True Cynicism
by Mystik Slacker
Summary: Daria becomes entangled in espionage. A True Lies Parody. No communists were harmed in the making of this serial.
1. Satellite Transmission Jammer

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Rated: PG-13 for language

**Short summary:**

Why does Lawndale High need a "satellite transmission jammer" anyway? Daria investigates, and finds out more than she wanted to know.

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: Feb/Mar 2001. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 1 - Satellite Transmission Jammer**

Daria Morgendorffer leaned back against the ventilation stack on the school roof, and set her book down, enjoying the warmth of the spring sun on her face, and the smell of new growth from the budding trees across the street in High Hills Park mixed with the sharp tang of asphalt from the sun-warmed roof. Spring was her favorite time of year: warm enough to relax outside, but not so warm that she had to abandon her green jacket.

Distantly she heard the bell signaling the end of the study hall she was skipping. In five minutes she needed to be in O'Neill's English class. She considered moving, but the warmth of the sun was too relaxing, and she was already three chapters ahead of the rest of the class anyway. O'Neill could go hang; she was going to stay here and read, or just soak up warmth. Either was preferable to listening to him butcher a fine work of literature.

A quiet hum interrupted her reverie, and she opened her eyes to watch the satellite dish on the edge of the roof swivel clockwise ninety degrees west, and elevate steeply. That was odd, she hadn't known it could move. It was supposed to be a downlink for the educational channel. Television stations came from a geostationary communications satellite, which was always in the same location relative to the ground, directly above the equator. Where it was pointed now was nowhere near the equator, and it seemed to be continuing to move slowly. She looked past it, at the branches of a distant tree: yes, it was still moving, slowly dropping and tilting to the south. She timed it for five minutes by her watch, and estimated it moved between fifteen and twenty degrees. Given the direction it was moving, that was about right for a low polar orbit. But nothing used polar orbits except satellites used by the military and hand-held satellite phones. Maybe Ms. Li had rented out rooftop space to one of the phone companies; she was always looking for new revenue sources.

As the antenna came close to pointing at the distant hills, the dish suddenly swiveled back to its usual location. Intrigued, Daria stood up and walked over to it. Looking closely, she could see the mechanism that moved the dish. It was compact, and disguised within the bracket that attached the dish to the post. From a distance, it would look like a solid mounting bracket. Looking closely, she saw a box of electronics on the back of the dish, with cables leading to the antenna, and the control mechanism. A flexible metal tube led from the box to a metal pipe on the base holding the dish. The pipe ran across the roof, and disappeared down a ventilator shaft.

Looking back at the box, she saw a small plate with writing engraved on it: "Atlas Electronics, Model: SCM-721, Serial: 801." She returned to her seat, and pulled a notebook out of her backpack, writing down the words and numbers. Later she'd see if she could find out what kind of equipment Atlas Electronics made. She wondered if it was for telephones or television. Of course, they might make both, but maybe the model number would mean something.

*

An earnest young man knocked on Ms. Li's door and entered at her call. She looked up from the budget she was updating on her laptop, surprised.

"Yes, Mr. Perkins, is there a problem?"

"Someone in the computer lab just did a search on Atlas Electronics."

Ms. Li's eyes widened. "Damn! Who?"

"The logon ID is Daria Morgendorffer, and the closed-circuit TV matches her file photo."

"Oh, Christ, that's all we need. Did she get anything?"

"Several pages off the public web site downloaded before we could 'simulate' a server failure. It looks like she was searching for information on satellite electronics."

"Send me copies of those pages. I want to know what she was looking for. And make sure the firewall blocks students from accessing any of our other suppliers."

"Right. Uh, should we do anything about her?"

Ms. Li's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Perkins, this is one of my students you're talking about. You will not DO anything to any of them, is that crystal clear? You are here to deal with external threats, and only external threats."

"What if she's a plant?"

"If so, she's a damn good one, she's been here two-and-a-half years acting exactly like a high school student. You know the kind of surveillance we have on them. She couldn't sneeze without us knowing. I don't think anyone could keep up an act twenty-four-seven for thirty months. Somebody let something slip, and she got curious. I'll deal with it."

"You're the boss, Colonel."

"Yes, I am. While you're at it, I want to know where she's been since she left her house this morning, and anything of ours that was in her visual range at any time, no matter how well covered."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll get right on it."

Perkins sketched a brief salute, turned sharply on his heel, and exited, leaving Ms. Li to stare at the door.

"They keep sending me idiots who can't even remember not to salute; it's no wonder someone saw something. But why did it have to be her? She's got more curiosity than a kitten, and a lawyer for a mother. Oh, hell." She rubbed her temples. "Why now, damn it all, why now?" Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to the budget spreadsheet.

*

Daria sat on her bed, looking at the pages she'd printed before Atlas's server had died. The SCM series was described as a "Satellite Dish Controller", and the 700 series was, indeed, for polar orbital systems, but there were only twelve models, numbered 701 through 712. There was no 721 model. She'd check the server again tomorrow, but it looked like she'd found everything there. There weren't any links to other pages, and the list appeared complete. Maybe they used separate numbers for low-volume custom equipment. A satellite phone system probably didn't have too many ground stations.

She picked up the phone and dialed Jane's number. After a dozen rings, it was picked up, and she heard Trent's sleepy voice.

"I'll move the car, officer, just give me a moment."

"Trent, it's Daria, is Jane home?"

"Huh? Oh, hi Daria. I don't know, I've been sleeping. What time is it, anyway?"

"It's around eight-thirty."

"Guess I missed practice then. I can go back to sleep."

"Before you do, could you check to see if Jane's home?"

"Yeah, sure. Just a sec."

Distantly she could her him shouting Jane's name. It sounded like he'd muffled the phone in his pillow. After a while, Jane picked up an extension.

"Hey, Daria."

"Hey, Jane, why didn't you pick up when I called?"

"I didn't hear it. I was playing with Mom's kiln down in the basement. What's up?"

"What would you say if I told you Ms. Li was renting out part of the school roof to a telephone company for a satellite uplink station?"

"I'd say you'd probably been out in the sun too long, but so what if she is?"

"Well, don't you think it's a little odd?"

"Daria, 'odd' is Ms. Barch's collection of pickled pigs. If Li's making some cash off a phone company, who cares? It's not like it's hurting anyone."

"I suppose. There's just something strange about it."

"My friend, you need to get out more. Wanna catch a movie tomorrow? The new Bond flick just came out."

"Jane, you know I don't like adventure movies. They're all flash, and no substance."

"Don't give me that, you write Melody Powers stories that have less plot than the average Bond film."

"Those are parodies."

"Why bother to parody something if you don't like it? C'mon, you can't fool me. I've watched too much late night TV with you."

Daria smiled. There was something refreshing about having a friend she couldn't keep a secret from, even if she'd wanted to.

"Okay, so I do watch the Bond ones, sometimes."

"You liked the one with Arnold as a computer geek who moonlighted as a secret agent, too, as I recall."

"True Lies. Yes, that was fun."

"Hey, I'd love to talk about your secret vices some more, but I need to get back to the kiln. It has this annoying tendency to explode if not watched."

"Well, we wouldn't want that to happen. Walk to school tomorrow?"

"Yep, see you then." Jane hung up, and Daria followed suit.

"I suppose she's right, it's not doing anyone any harm, but I wonder what that antenna is connected to, and why they needed to be so secretive about it."

*

Daria walked cautiously down the deserted first-floor hallway. During classes there was nobody out here, but there was also no place to hide if someone came out of an office unexpectedly. If she was right, the cable from the antenna led down into the janitor's closet on this hall. She'd never seen it open, but the master key she'd borrowed from the janitor buffing the floors in the other building ought to open it, and if she was quick she could get the key back to him before he'd even realized it was missing.

She opened the door, seeing a small room lined with shelves holding cleaning supplies. Flicking on the light, she entered and closed the door behind her. Looking around, she realized the room was only about ten feet deep, and the outer wall of the building was at least twenty feet from the hallway. She'd been in both neighboring classrooms at one time or another, and neither had closets that would account for the missing space. She moved to the back wall, and looked carefully.

After several minutes of close examination, she realized that the steel shelving unit leaning against the wall was actually attached to it, and the legs weren't resting on the floor. Looking at the wall, there appeared to be a seam outlining the shelves, like a concealed doorway. She eventually found what appeared to be a latch. Taking a deep breath, she pulled on the latch, and the shelves and wall pivoted open. Behind it, a stairway led down into the basement, and she could see the metal pipe enter overhead, and run down alongside the stairs. Cautiously, she descended the stairs.

Down at the base of the stairs the hallway doubled back, and another flight of stairs led down. She continued down. Now, below the school basement, a hallway stretched ahead. Several doors opened off it, but as she tried each, all were locked, and the janitor's master key did not fit them. The metal pipe she'd followed ran down the hall, vanishing into the wall above a door at the end. She walked down, and tried the door. 

It wasn't locked, and she pulled it open. Several people sat around a large room, looking at banks of video monitors. Nobody looked up as she stood there. Her gaze traveled over the monitors. Many showed world or regional maps. A few showed computer screens, and one in the back had CNN on with the volume turned down.

She walked into the room, closing the door behind her, and walked up behind a young man looking at a street map of some city. The outline seemed familiar, and then something clicked.

"London?" She asked.

"Yeah, they've been sitting in the same restaurant for two hours. How long can dinner take?" The young man said, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Is it a good restaurant?"

"Well, it's not gourmet, but I wouldn't mind eating there."

"Then two hours isn't unreasonable. They could easily go twice that if they have something to talk about."

"Yeah, that makes sense." He looked up as he spoke, smiling, but when he saw her looking back, he froze, with a look of comic horror.

"Is there something on my face?" She asked.

"Wh... Wh... Who are you?"

"Daria. And you?"

"C... C... C..."

"Carl? Corey? Ken?"

"C... CODE ONE!" He yelled. All over the room people jerked erect, and suddenly Daria was looking down the barrels of a dozen handguns.

"Um, you don't need to tell me your name if you don't want to."

*

Daria sat at a table in what appeared to be a breakroom off of the room with the monitors. A young man with a gun stood by the door, watching her intently. The door opened, and Ms. Li walked in, took one look at Daria, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Hello, Ms. Morgendorffer. I apologize for the behavior of my people. Their social skills sometimes leave something to be desired." She turned to the man with the gun. 

"Perkins, put that damn thing away, and tell me how she got down here."

"But Colonel..."

"Colonel?" Daria asked.

"Perkins, you idiot, can you possibly make this any worse? I'm going to have you cleaning toilets in Antarctica if you make one more mistake."

"Yes Ma'am!" Perkins braced to attention.

"Well? I asked you a question. How did she get in?"

"I don't know ma'am. Brian looked up and she was standing behind him, asking questions."

Ms. Li turned to Daria. "Could you tell me how you came to be down here?"

"I could. Could you tell me what 'here' is?"

"Ms. Morgendorffer, the less you know, the better off you are. This is already one hell of a mess, please don't make it any worse."

"Am I under arrest? If so, on what charge?"

"I can hold you for seventy-two hours without charging you with anything. I won't, because your mother would be down on me like a ton of bricks if you disappeared for that long, but I could. Now, can you please answer my question?"

"Okay. I followed the line from the satellite dish down, used a janitor's master key to open the closet, and walked in."

"What made you curious about the satellite dish?"

"Well, it has a polar orbit tracking mount, and that's not normal for a TV dish. I thought you were renting out space to a satellite phone company. But that's not what this is, is it?"

"If I said it was, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. What this is, is a government agency..."

"Ma'am! She doesn't have the clearance to know that!" Perkins, still standing at attention, blurted out.

Ms. Li turned a cold eye on him. "Perkins, as you were so kind as to mention earlier, I'm the Colonel. Since you aren't, I suggest you button your lip. If I hear one more word out of you, I'll find something worse than Antarctic toilets for you to play with."

"But, ma'am..."

"Perkins, be glad you're a civilian now. If you were still in the army, I'd have you up on insubordination charges. Now, get out of here and make sure the doors are locked, and change the closet lock so it's not on the main building master key. If I see you again before tomorrow, you'll regret it."

Ms. Li walked over, and sat at the table, as Perkins hurried out of the room. Daria watched her rub her temples.

"They send me such puppies." She looked up at Daria. "You've got more sense, and you're a high school senior. God."

"I'm not your average high-school senior."

"No. If you were, I wouldn't have this problem. Anyway, as I was saying, we're a government agency responsible for counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism activities around the world."

"In a high school basement? Why would any sane government put an installation like this in a place where it's overrun with people who could find out about it?"

Ms. Li chuckled. "That's exactly what I asked when I was first posted here, fifteen years ago. The answer is simple: we need to be close to Washington, and everything within driving distance of there is under incredible scrutiny. It's impossible to hide a building of the size we need, and businesses have too many outside visitors. A school doesn't have to let any strangers past the main office, and every student and parent of a student here has had a more through background check than most people with security clearances.

"Perkins was actually wrong: you do have the necessary security clearance. What you don't have is need-to-know, or the paperwork to make the clearance official."

She looked up at Daria. "I have two options. I can make the security clearance official, if you promise to abide by the regulations controlling classified information and tell nobody about this. If you're willing to do that, then you're free to go."

"And the other option?"

"We lock you up somewhere for violating National Security until we can shut down this facility and remove every trace it ever existed. You'd probably be let go sometime around August."

"Why go to all that bother? Why not just make me disappear?"

"Because, Ms. Morgendorffer, whatever you may think of me or the government, we don't operate that way. I took an oath to defend this country and it's citizens. I don't intend to fulfill it by abusing the constitutional rights of those citizens."

"Locking me up for six months isn't a violation of my rights?"

"Not if it's because you can't keep a secret." She looked Daria in the eyes. "I don't particularly like it, but I'm not going to apologize: you have a choice."

Daria looked at her for a long moment, as Ms. Li continued to rub the bridge of her nose.

"Headache?"

"Oh, yes. I've had migraines you would not believe since I took command here. Being principal is a full time job, as is playing nursemaid to these idiots. I don't get anywhere near enough sleep, and I drink way too much coffee."

Daria continued to study Ms. Li. She seemed far from the crisp, energetic principal whose continual struggles for budget at the expense of the students Daria had chafed against for years. Which was the real Angela Li, or were they both roles? This one seemed more human, vulnerable, which made it more likely to be an act. But her decision was obvious in any case.

"Okay. I'll sign your papers, and I won't tell anyone."

Ms. Li looked up. "You're certain? You can't even tell your parents."

"I don't tell my parents much, anyway. But I won't even tell Jane. I can't prove you're one of the good guys, but if you weren't, I think you'd have been more willing to make threats."

Ms. Li smiled, a tired, but honest look of approval. "If I had a half-dozen analysts as sharp as you, I don't think I'd have headaches. Have you ever considered a job in Intelligence? The pay sucks, but you get to visit quite a few interesting places."

Daria stared at her. "You're not serious?"

Ms. Li looked back, thoughtful. "Actually, I believe I am. I'm going to need a replacement after I send Perkins to Antarctica. How would you like to be my aide?"

**THE END (for now)**

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

Title - True Cynicism is a play on True Lies; but I presume you caught that. Like most use of such titles in real Daria episodes, the actual story has no close relation to the other work; it's just an indication of the general idea (in this instance: spies, masquerading as something else, and trying to keep even their friends and family from knowing). 

Why? - Several reasons. First, I wanted to try my hand at a really short story, second, I wanted to look at Daria from a different perspective than either Canon or the typical crossover, finally I like the idea of putting someone who writes about a suave, violent secret agent (Melody Powers) into a more real world of espionage and seeing how they react. Also, after Ms. Li's comment to Mr. O'Neill in _Fizz Ed_ about the cost of a "satellite transmission jammer", I just had to answer the question of why a school would need such a thing.

What is this? - Well, it's a stand-alone story in it's own right, but I'm planning to do several more "chapters" with cliffhanger endings if my imagination is up to the task. Think old-time movie serials: short episodes, with a hook to draw the audience back next time.

Daria's Character - Okay, I know I've diverged a bit from her "real" character (it's not like this is the first time, either). The Daria of the TV show would be suspicious of Ms. Li, but not proactive enough to steal a master key and go looking for the other end of the cable. On the other hand, I'm tired of having supporting characters whose sole role is to kick Daria into taking actions she wants to take anyway. To make this work without such hoops to jump through, I'm presuming she's matured (by late senior year) enough to realize that she needs to act if she wants to accomplish things. That, coupled with her intellectual curiosity, gave me the "curious as a kitten" Daria presented here. I am going to hew close to her observed character otherwise. This isn't "the birth of Melody Powers" and no communists will be harmed in the making of this serial. Well, some may be annoyed, but bloody deaths will be notably absent.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	2. A View to a Spill

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March 2001 

* * *

**CHAPTER 2 - A View to a Spill**

Daria whistled quietly as she approached Lawndale High. This early there was still a chill to the air that made the physical effort of their brisk walk refreshing. Jane, walking beside her, looked at her friend with puzzlement: Daria happy was a rare event, Daria happy on the way to school even less common, and Daria whistling was unprecedented.

"God, you're cheerful today. Quinn kidnapped by aliens or something?"

Daria stopped whistling, suddenly self-conscious, and looked at her friend. She couldn't tell her how good it felt to finally be doing something useful with her life, not without having to provide an explanation she wasn't allowed to give.

"No. No aliens. It's just such a lovely day, and it's going to be even better later."

"Huh? In case you've forgotten, amiga, we're on our way to school. Better is not in the cards, merely another wasted day listening to clueless teachers recite propaganda even they don't believe."

"No longer, at least for me. Today I start an independent study project. No more formal classes. I just have to turn in papers and other assignments, and otherwise work on what I want."

"Right. And I've been elected Pope. You're confusing last night's dreams with reality."

"Heh. You'll see. Or rather, you won't see me in any classes."

"So, if you're going over the wall, can I come?" Jane asked, in a more serious tone.

Daria looked at her friend, and answered with honest regret. "Sorry, Ms. Li's going to be watching me like a hawk. She made it clear I had to go solo on this. Maybe I can bring her around later."

"How long's this project going to last? And why is this the first I've heard of it?"

"I'm not sure, maybe the rest of the year, and I only found out about it yesterday, when you were away on the museum trip. How was it, anyway?"

"Not as good as I'd hoped. Their idea of art doesn't include anything from the twentieth century, and the museum isn't big enough to be able to afford anything good from earlier times, so it was all rather mediocre." Jane accepted the change of subject, but didn't try to continue the conversation. The two walked on in silence until they reached the school.

They turned, walking around the traffic circle in front of the main entrance. Daria reached into the pocket of her green jacket and pulled out her watch, thinking that she really needed to fix the strap someday.

"I'm running a bit late. I've got to catch Ms. Li before first period to do some paperwork. I'll see you when school gets out."

"What, no rooftop escape during study hall?" Jane tried for a light, teasing, tone, but succeeded only in sounding lonely.

This was becoming awkward. Daria couldn't tell Jane the truth, and she hated having to lie to her friend, but if she was going to go through with it, that was part of the cost. 

"No, I'm pretty sure my whole day's already booked."

"And you consider this an improvement?"

"Well, I won't know for sure until I try, but it seems like it ought to be. Anyway, catch you later."

Daria waved to Jane, as she turned and knocked on the Principal's door. When Ms. Li responded, she opened the door and walked in.

Angela Li, principal of Lawndale High, sat behind her desk, wearing her typical gray business suit. Her face usually held a severe, disapproving look when Daria encountered her, but today she actually smiled as Daria entered the office and took a seat before the desk.

"Good morning, Ms. Morgendorffer. Are you still interested in being my Aide?"

"Yep. What do I need to do?"

"Well, there's a stack of paperwork. Once we get that out of the way, I'm going to take you down to one of our other facilities where you'll get your orientation and some initial training. You'll be going there yourself for a few weeks. Mostly it's to learn what we do, and the tools and processes we use to do it. There'll also be some basic self-defense skills training. You shouldn't ever need to use it, but it's a requirement."

"Um, self defense? Like Judo? I've taken a basic self-defense class, but I wasn't good at it."

"I know, but we have very experienced instructors, and you'll learn better with one-on-one training. It also includes more lethal skills than your self-defense class did."

Daria scowled. "Lethal? I don't like the sound of that. Why does an aide need to know how to kill?"

"As I said, you should never need to use it. But, just because I can't foresee a situation that would require it, doesn't mean one won't occur. If it comes down to you or them, I want you to be the one standing when it's over. This isn't a game, and the other people aren't very nice. If this is all sounding too real, you can still change your mind."

"No... I'm still interested. I knew it wasn't a game when I accepted your offer."

"Good, then let's get started on this pile of paper."

Outside the door, Jane straightened up and walked away with a frown on her face.

*

Daria stood in the middle of the operations center, watching her team as they monitored agents around the world. Unlike the first time she'd seen this room, today she knew what every station was doing. It was her first day acting as supervisor, and even though she'd trained for weeks, and could recite the routine in her sleep, her nerves were strained to the breaking point. As Ms. Li's aide, she was responsible for handling routine problems, and notifying Ms. Li when a problem wasn't "routine". A mistake could not only compromise a mission that may have taken months of preparation, it could cost the agents involved their lives. Her only reassurance was that her predecessor, who was now engaged in a detailed study of plumbing near the south pole, had managed to do the job for over a year without killing anyone.

"Ma'am?" Brian, near the door, called. It took Daria a moment to realize that she was being addressed.

"Just call me Daria, Brian, I'm too young to be a 'Ma'am' yet. What's up?"

"Agent Glasscutter in DC just pushed the panic button."

"What kind of codename is 'glasscutter'? No, never mind, what's his situation?"

"Glasscutter's a cat burglar, I think the name's due to that, although it's also a play on the name of a famous Japanese sword. Anyway, she was spotted leaving the German embassy, and they're tailing her car. We can't do anything overt because they're allies, and we can't let them know she's ours."

"Let's see the map."

Brian brought up a detailed street map on one of the monitors, with a moving indicator for one vehicle. Daria looked closely.

"That's a commercial district. Do we have anyone down there who could stage an accident to cut off the pursuers?"

"We've got two teams enroute, but it will be at least ten minutes before the first is in position, that's too long."

"Yeah, the Germans are probably moving their own backups in, too. Hmm. Can she abandon the car and hop on a Metra train? If we time it right, they won't be able to board the same train, and she can lose them at the next station. Once she's clear, one of the backup teams can pick her up."

Brian thought, bringing up a train schedule on a second monitor. 

"That should work. Team two is in the right place, but the schedule looks tight. We need to tell her 'go' now or she'll miss the train."

Daria thought, briefly, then nodded decisively. "Tell her 'go', then."

"Yes Ma'am, I mean Daria." He turned to the screen, and began to issue directions into his microphone in a low voice. Daria unconsciously wiped the sweat from her forehead, as she looked around the room to see if anything else needed attention. Only ten minutes, and she'd already had to deal with an incident. No wonder Ms. Li had headaches. Brian turned back to her.

"Everything's moving. Now we wait five minutes to see if the car makes it to the station on time, and another ten before we'll get a pickup confirmation from team two."

Brian turned back to the map, with Daria looking closely over his shoulder. She stood, barely moving for fifteen minutes, until Brian looked up again.

"The backup unit just called in. They've got her, and the package, and there's no sign of the Germans. It looks like we're clear." She nodded, and he turned back to his displays, chattering happily with the team about their next move.

In her office, Ms. Li pressed a key, and the view from the closed circuit camera disappeared from her laptop's screen. She couldn't have planned a better test of her new aides judgment if she'd wanted to: clear-headed under pressure, no wasted effort, and as close to an optimal solution as could be hoped for given the situation. It had taken Perkins over a month to become that comfortable handling snafus, and since they averaged several per day, it had been a very long month for her. But it looked like she could get back to work on the school budget, and trust Daria to yell for help when she needed it. Maybe she'd actually get a decent night's sleep tonight.

*

Daria and Jane turned out of the school drive, walking towards the setting sun. Jane thought Daria looked exhausted, and she could smell the odor of stale sweat.

"Hey, you run a marathon today, or what?"

"No," Daria replied, in a tired monotone.

"So, you must be trying out for football then."

"Sure."

"Um, Daria, are you even listening to me?"

Daria looked over at her. "Of course I am Jane. I'm just tired."

"Rough day of independent study, huh? I haven't seen too much of you the last few weeks, but you've never looked like this. What's up?"

Daria was quiet, apparently thinking. Jane turned an exasperated look on her friend.

"Well, talk to me, or am I alone here and just hallucinating that you're with me?"

"If you were hallucinating, I'd probably be more awake."

"True. So, tell me about your day."

"Nothing much to tell. Hitting the books. Sometimes they hit back. Today was like that."

Jane, surprised, looked closely at her, but detected no humor. 

"Daria, that isn't even a good evasion."

"Yeah, but I'm too tired to make up a believable lie, and I don't want to lie to you anyway. But I can't tell you what I've been doing. Just let it go, huh?" She ended on a rather plaintive note, which did not sound at all like the Daria Jane was used to.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Is Ms. Li threatening you somehow?"

Daria stopped, apparently surprised. "No, nothing like that! Work was just harder than I expected today, okay?" She began to walk again.

"Work?" Jane inquired.

"Schoolwork."

"Yeah, right. Whatever you're up to, I hope you know what you're doing. But from the outside, it looks like you're headed for a coronary before you're twenty. Well, if I can't help you do it, and you won't talk to me about it, at least I can help you forget it. There was a Sick, Sad, World marathon last weekend that you missed when you disappeared on one of your 'research trips', and I taped it. Want to watch five hours of senseless human behavior?"

Daria smiled. "Jane, you're a beacon of insanity in an world that's all too real. Lead on, I could use some senseless behavior right now."

*

Daria walked briskly into the Principal's office, closing the door behind her, and took a seat.

"You wanted to see me, Angela?"

Ms. Li spoke without looking up from the keyboard of her computer. "Yes. I'll be right with you Daria, I just need to send this off first." She typed for a couple of minutes, and Daria took the opportunity to relax, staring up at the ceiling without thinking about anything in particular.

"There, that's done," Ms. Li said, with an air of satisfaction. "No more budget work for another month at least. I can actually relax this weekend. Maybe I'll read a book."

"Books. I used to read books. Do they still print them?" Daria asked, tiredly.

"You're really beat, aren't you?"

"Just a little."

"Hmph. Don't try to fool me. In the past four days you've had to call me exactly once. You've handled fifteen incidents yourself, and handled them very well I might add. I know just how much effort that takes."

Daria looked up, surprised both by the approval in her voice, and the quantity.

"Fifteen? I hadn't realized it had been so many."

"You never do, when you're in it up to your armpits. You just deal with the current crisis, and move on. But I meant what I said: you've done very well. Usually when we break in a new supervisor, I have to work twice as hard as usual for the first month. But this week has been my easiest in two years.

Ms. Li leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk, her posture emphasizing her words as her tone became more serious.

"But it's been that way because you've been driving yourself into the ground. You need to take some breaks yourself, and delegate some of the more routine duties. Take some time to hang out on the roof with Jane. I don't want you killing yourself. That won't do me any good in the long run, and remember you have a cover to keep. People will notice if you look like a zombie at the end of every day."

"Funny, my parents haven't noticed a thing. Even my boyfriend thinks I'm just working too hard because graduation's approaching."

Ms. Li leaned back in her chair. "But Jane's noticed."

Daria looked up, startled, and protested, "she doesn't know anything!"

"No, I don't think she does, but she has noticed your behavior. Remember, there's no such thing as privacy in this town."

"I'm painfully aware of that. I was embarrassed enough kissing Tom when I thought we were alone. Now that I know someone's always watching, it's really difficult. I'm surprised he hasn't noticed."

"Teenage boys are relatively oblivious to anything outside their own skin."

"Yeah, I'd figured that out myself. But you didn't call me in here to talk about Jane and Tom. What's up?"

"Actually, I did call you in to talk about them." If anything, Ms. Li's voice turned more serious.

Daria looked at her, doubtfully.

"Or, to be more specific, to suggest that you need a break from work. I've got a job I need done, and it will give you a change of pace, and it's a hell of a lot less stress than the ops center."

Daria perked up, heartened by the thought of a break. "Anything! What do you need?"

"We've word from a deep cover agent in DC. He needs to pass us some urgent information. Phone contact isn't safe, and I don't want to risk exposing him by using one of our normal agents as a courier. I need you to go down and pick up his report from a blind drop. Later, after we review the report, you'll leave some information for him to collect at another drop, plus whatever instructions we add based on his report. Just a simple courier mission, and you can even take Jane along and spend the weekend at a museum, it's the perfect cover."

"She'd like that, but isn't it risky having someone along? She's not stupid."

"I think you're inventive enough to pull it off. Worst case, if you have to abort, we'll get someone else to do the mission next week. This is urgent, but not that urgent."

"So, when do I leave?"

"Now. We can do it later, but I'd like to have that report as soon as possible. Go collect Jane when she gets out of History in fifteen minutes. Take the green motor-pool car, materials for the package you'll drop off Sunday are in the trunk, and they'll fit in your pack. And this is a field mission, so take a gun and a phone, and make sure the gun is one of the non-metallic ones, you don't want to get caught in some metal detector. Your code name for any communications with us will be 'Cynic'. Oh, and here's your ID card, just in case something goes really wrong."

Ms. Li handed a leather folder over. Daria flipped it open, and read "FBI, agent Melody Powers". She looked up at Ms. Li. "Isn't impersonating an FBI agent a crime, and aren't I too young to be an agent anyway?"

"It's not a crime if we don't get caught, and you, or rather Melody, are in their files with an older age listed, so the credentials will check out if necessary. It's a favor they do us, although few people other than their director know of it."

"Why 'Melody Powers'?"

"I thought you'd appreciate the humor, Daria," Ms. Li smiled.

"And to think, Angela, for two years I thought you were a humorless bureaucrat."

Ms. Li's smile widened, "I am a humorless bureaucrat, I'd break my cover if I allowed myself a sense of humor."

Daria laughed. "True enough. Okay, I'm off to DC. What do I tell my parents?"

"I'll call your mother's assistant, and let her know you went on a school trip to the city, and won't be back until Sunday night. I've made reservations for two rooms at a hotel. That paperwork's in the trunk of the car, also. Make the pick-up tonight while you do some sightseeing, and spend tomorrow and Saturday playing tourist. The agency will cover meals and reasonable expenses. We should have the information for the drop ready by Sunday morning."

"Reasonable expenses? No chartered jets?" Daria teased.

"If you really needed one, we'd cover it. After this week, I do trust your judgment."

"Now I'm worried."

"Good, a little worry is healthy."

*

Daria and Jane walked into the hotel lobby, a spacious atrium that soared at least ten stories, with balconies at every floor. The hotel desk was at the far side, beyond a large fountain surrounded by a cafe. A few groups of people were eating a late dinner, but the room was mostly empty. 

"I'm starved," Jane said, "all that walking around really burns the calories."

"Me too, but we should check in first and dump our packs," Daria replied.

They crossed quickly to the desk, and the twenty-something man behind the desk looked up with a weary sigh.

"Yeah?" he asked, in a tone that suggested they were about to waste his time, and their own.

"That's what I like about this place, Jane, the positive, customer-friendly attitude of the staff. You just don't see that degree of service most places these days." She turned to the clerk, "Reservation for two rooms, Morgendorffer."

The clerk typed on a computer, then suddenly straightened and looked at Daria with an odd mixture of respect and subservience.

"Uh, yes ma'am, we have you booked for two rooms on the concierge level. I apologize for my earlier tone, I thought you were part of the school group we have this week."

Daria and Jane exchanged puzzled looks.

"What's a concierge level?" Jane asked, addressing nobody in particular.

Daria looked at the clerk, who swallowed nervously before explaining.

"It's a restricted access floor for our frequent visitor club members and other elite guests."

Jane looked at Daria, and raised an eyebrow, "You come here often?"

"First time," said Daria, thinking quickly. Angela must have booked the rooms this way for added security. "But Mom's law firm does a lot of business in the city." She turned back to the clerk, "So, do we get keys, or do I have to kick the door down? It's been a long day."

The clerk hurriedly handed them two plastic cards, and a map of the hotel.

"Rooms 904 and 906, just take the elevator and turn left, you'll need to use your room key to select the ninth floor, and again on your doors. I presume you'll be paying with the card used to make the reservation?"

"Sure," replied Daria.

The two turned, and walked over to the elevators. Just as the doors began to open, she heard a familiar voice on the far side of the lobby.

"Kevvy, get down off that fountain now!" A girl's voice, as close to the sound of fingernails on a blackboard as was possible for human vocal cords to produce, shattered the quiet, stilling conversation throughout the lobby.

"Aww, Babe, I'm not going to fall in," replied a male voice.

Daria and Jane looked at each other, then across the lobby. Kevin Thompson, quarterback for the Lawndale High Lions, fully attired in his football uniform and shoulder pads, was standing on the rim of the fountain looking down at Brittany Taylor, his cheerleader girlfriend, also in uniform. Brittany, with her hands on her hips, scowled up at him.

"Dear God, where did they come from?" Daria asked Jane.

"That's what I wanted to know Monday, but what are you two doing here?" Another familiar voice asked, from the now open elevator. 

They turned to see Jodie Landon, student council representative and general overachiever. A rare smile lit her face, the ivory of her teeth flashing against her dark skin. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, I need all the sane people I can find after a week around those two."

"Um, we're in town to visit museums this weekend. What are you doing here?" Daria replied.

"It's the school trip for the Lawndale Model Congress. We've been here since Sunday night. We saw the Senate in session today, and we're going to the Smithsonian tomorrow, and then there's a presidential reception at the Kennedy Center Saturday night."

"Okay, but where do Mr. and Mrs. Clueless fit in?" Jane asked, as Kevin lost his balance and fell into the fountain, splashing water over several nearby diners.

"Apparently, Ms. Li decided that the football team and cheerleaders should join us to represent a 'well-rounded student body' or some such nonsense. At least I get to see Mack, but I'm not sure it's worth the price. Those two," she pointed at Brittany, now helping a dripping Kevin from the fountain, "have been getting lost, separately or together, and otherwise causing havoc, all week. I think the hotel is about to ask us to leave." Jodie paused, considering the two standing in front of her. "Hey, have you guys eaten yet? I was just about to, and I don't want to wind up sharing a table with them."

"We're just going to freshen up and then eat," Jane replied. "If you get a table and order colas we'll be down in ten minutes."

"Perfect. I'll be over in the corner, away from the fountain."

Jodie walked off, and Jane and Daria stepped into the waiting elevator. Daria inserted her card-key into the slot next to the indicator for the ninth floor, and the doors closed.

"That's weird. Did you know they were here when you booked the rooms?" Jane asked.

"Are you kidding? I'd have found another hotel if I had. I came here to get away from school, not participate in some kind of field trip."

"Well, after encountering Barbie and Ken, the weekend can only improve," Jane said, smiling.

"I certainly hope you're right," said Daria, with a smirk, "I'm not sure I want to think about what could be worse."

**THE END (of chapter 2)**

**Next week:** Chapter 3, Mission Implausible: In which "a simple courier mission" becomes more complex, Jane and Daria shop for evening wear, and Daria meets a handsome stranger.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	3. Mission Implausible

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March 2001 

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 - Mission Implausible**

Daria sat on the foot of her hotel bed, talking into the cell phone. As she spoke, her eyes kept straying to the connecting door to Jane's room. The door was solid, and there was another door behind it, so Jane was unlikely to overhear her conversation, but she kept her voice low just to be sure.

"...and the last item in the packet is a handwritten note, do you want me to fax that back to you? It appears to be in code, but it's only one sentence."

"What does it say?" Ms. Li's voice on the phone was tinny, distorted by the small speaker, but her urgency came across clearly.

"The bear will hunt the eagle by moonlight."

"Oh, damn. That's not code; it's an allusion. The Russians are going to kill the President. Moonlight, hmm. When's the next full moon?"

"How the hell should I know? You're the one with the room full of computers!" Daria said, her voice rising with a note of panic.

"Calm down. We've received the warning in time; we'll handle this." Daria could hear muffled conversation in the background, then: "Oh GOD DAMN!" Daria jerked the phone away from her ear. Ms. Li's voice continued an unbroken string of epithets longer than she would have believed possible. When she finally ran out of breath, Daria lifted the phone to her ear again.

"Bad news?"

"Tomorrow is the full moon. That has to be it, and there's not enough time to insert any of our people into the President's security. I can't even learn his itinerary on that short a notice. We'll have to warn the Secret Service, and they'll just cancel whatever he's scheduled to do, and the assassin will try again later. Damn. So close."

"Angela, I know where the President is going to be tomorrow night. The school trip is attending a Presidential reception at the Kennedy Center. Jodie can probably get me in there."

"Perfect, then we're all set."

"All set!" Daria shrieked into the phone, then glanced at the door and lowered her voice. "You want me to prevent someone I've never seen from killing the President sometime tomorrow night! We don't even know how they're planning to do it! Maybe they'll just blow the whole building up!"

"Control yourself, Daria. Treat this as just another assignment with an unexpected development. If you were back here, what would you tell the field agent?"

"I'd tell them they were about to be responsible for the death of the leader of the free world," Daria replied, bitterly, "it's a distinction few other agents can claim."

"Now, now. Despair won't get you anywhere. Security will be very tight. They can't bring a bomb large enough to be useful anywhere near the President. The agent whose report you picked up is part of a terrorist cell backed by Russian extremists. Their past assassinations have all involved close-up use of handguns or poison. I think it's safe to say they won't be blowing anyone up."

"Sure, it's safe for you to say that, you're in Lawndale."

"And you're the agent on the scene. You're going to have to do this."

Daria sighed. "I know."

"Fine. I'll see if there are any other agents I can pull in, but the others I have in the area are all specialists. They can follow a plan, but they're not very flexible on their own. Even if I can put a team together, you're going to be the team leader. Keep the phone on. If you can't answer it when I call, get away as soon as possible and call me back. Good luck, Daria, and good hunting."

Daria hung up the phone, and placed it in the inside pocket of her jacket. The she shrugged off the jacket, revealing a shoulder holster. Removing the holster, she unloaded the handgun it contained, returned it to the holster, and placed both in her pack. Finally she pulled her jacket back on.

"Damn, I'm glad to get that off for the evening. I hate guns. I'm not cut out to be a field agent. I wish I were back home writing a Melody Powers story, instead of living one. I'm going to screw up, and somebody's going to die. Not somebody, the freakin' President. Oh, God, how did I get myself into this? And why am I asking myself when I already know the answer?"

She jumped, as a knock on the door interrupted her. She quickly placed the packet of papers she'd been reading to Ms. Li into her backpack, and dropped it beside the bed. Then she rose and walked over to the connecting door to let Jane in.

"Hey, amiga, ready for dinner?"

"Hey Jane, yeah, I'm starved. I hope Jodie was able to get a table away from Kevin and Brittany."

"Now you're trying to ruin my appetite."

Jane tossed the comment over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Daria followed, shaking her head.

*

The two exited the elevator, and walked across the lobby looking for Jodie. There was no sign of Kevin or Brittany, although a janitor was mopping up water near the fountain from Kevin's plunge earlier. Finally, they saw Jodie at a table half-concealed behind a potted palm.

"Hey, Jodie, nice hiding place," Daria said, walking up to the table.

"Yeah, I managed to avoid the dynamic duo, but it took forever for a waiter to notice me back here. Our sodas just arrived. The waiter will be back in a couple of minutes to take our order. The night menu's not very extensive, but it does have a few things that count as meals." She handed menus to the two as they sat down.

"You mentioned that you were going to a reception at the Kennedy Center tomorrow night, didn't you?" Daria asked, as she glanced through the menu.

"Yeah, us and about twenty other Model Congresses. They've reserved the entire roof level for the evening. It's quite the gala: catered dinner, dancing, and the President giving a speech on The Future Politicians of America." You could hear the capitals as Jodie spoke. "You wouldn't believe the headache I had getting tickets at the last minute for the football team and the cheerleaders Ms. Li stuck me with. Hey, do you two want to come? I've got extra tickets now, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to in addition to Mack."

"Not in a million years," said Jane.

"I think I'd like that," said Daria.

"Okay, I knew you wouldn't accept...WHAT?" Jodie practically screamed the last word.

Jane, too, seemed amazed, turning an incredulous look on her friend.

"Daria, are you feeling okay? You hate things like this."

"I know. It's just that I've never been to a Presidential reception. It sounds like it might be interesting."

"Right. Interesting. A bunch of kids being lectured by politicians, eating plastic food, and dancing to music that was old before we were born. I can think of lots of words I'd use, but that isn't one of them. But hell, if you're going, I might as well come too. Sign me up, Jodie."

"Sure." Jodie looked doubtfully at the two, clearly surprised her offer had been accepted. "Um, there's just one problem. It's formal. Did either of you bring evening gowns?"

Jane, halfway through a sip of her soda, snorted and began to choke. Daria pounded her on the back a couple of times until she began to breathe normally.

"You okay? I thought I was going to need to practice the Heimlich on someone other than Quinn this time."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Jodie, neither of us even own an evening gown, nor can we afford to buy them. Maybe this isn't such a great idea."

Daria interrupted. "Actually, Jane, I've got Mom's gold card. We can get some tomorrow, and she'll probably think it was one of Quinn's shopping trips."

Jane looked at her friend, mixing disbelief and bewilderment in one gaze.

"Daria, I know you've been acting weird these last few weeks, but are you seriously suggesting we go clothes shopping so we can attend a formal reception? I'd suggest that you've been replaced with an alien impostor, but even aliens could do a more credible impersonation of Daria Morgendorffer than you're doing."

Daria gazed back at her, irritated. She didn't want to go to the stupid reception, what she wanted was to be far away, but it was her responsibility. "Look Jane, nobody's forcing you to go. I'm going, but you're welcome to do something else."

"No way. Someone has to keep an eye on you. Besides, if you're going to wear an evening gown, I'm going to be there to capture it on film, even if I have to wear one too."

Daria smiled. Having Jane with her was going to complicate matters, but she'd deal with the complications; it was good to know she wasn't going to be alone. Jodie didn't count, even though she was a friend, because she couldn't understand how it felt to be one of the unpopular people at a social function. That was something Daria and Jane shared. Jodie was always busy organizing such functions, never one of the people standing aside waiting in vain for someone who wouldn't ignore them.

"Thanks, Jane, I appreciate it," Daria said.

"Well, don't go all maudlin on me. This is already too weird for words, and I'm not sure I could cope with that. Uh, is your pocket vibrating, or are you just happy to see me?"

Daria frowned, confused, and then realized that the cell phone in her pocket was ringing silently. She pulled it out, and thumbed the "end" button to hang up.

"Damn. Mom and her electric leash. I've got to go call her. Can you order me a burger with everything and a side of fries when the waiter shows up?"

"Sure," Jodie said. "Say 'hi' to your Mom for me."

"Yeah." Daria rose, and walked away, looking for a quiet place to make her call.

Jodie turned to Jane after Daria was out of earshot. "I thought my parents were control freaks, but they don't make me carry a phone so they can keep in touch."

"Yeah, Helen's really something. But when did the Morgendorffers get a second phone? I can't imagine her lending hers to Daria for the weekend."

"She probably got a two-for-one deal, they're pretty common. There has to be some explanation, she's got the phone after all."

"Yeah. There just seem to be quite a few things needing an explanation lately, and no explanations to be found." Jane said, gazing intently at the blank wall, as if an explanation should be found there. "There's something suspicious about all this."

"You worry too much, Jane. This is Daria, after all. I can't imagine her being involved in anything suspicious, can you?"

"No, I can't, and that's what's bothering me. What could possibly make her behave like this? Attending a formal reception, for crying out loud. This whole independent study thing that leaves her no time to even hang out during the day, and that has her completely wrung out every evening. Those weekend trips she's been making. Something odd's going on, but what?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it does sound strange. But if she doesn't want to tell us, that's her business."

"I know. I just wish she'd trust me."

Jane sighed, and turned her attention to the menu. Jodie looked at her sympathetically, but had nothing to add.

*

The following afternoon Jodie and Jane stood in the waiting area of the dressmakers shop, outside the door to the fitting room. Around them, expensive gowns were displayed on mannequins, lit by discreet spotlights. Minimalist wooden furniture, lightly upholstered, was scattered about the room, seemingly at random. The floor and trim on the walls was of a light colored wood, which provided a discreet contrast to the white walls. A few full-length mirrors were tucked away in corners, for the use of customers. Scattered plants lent a fresh tang to the air, which otherwise smelled of cloth and wood. The overall effect was simple and elegant, and expensive.

"Jane, don't you think we should have tried to talk Daria into going someplace else?" Jodie asked, not for the first time, fidgeting slightly.

"Relax, Jodie, her mother recommended this place, and it's her card we're charging."

"Well, that's what Daria said, but are you sure her mother meant this shop? I've done some clothes shopping in the city, and I've never been to a place that looked as expensive as this. There are no prices on any of the displays. That's always a bad sign."

They were interrupted by the sound of a door opening, as Daria entered from the fitting room, wearing an ankle-length green gown. The gown was slit up to the knee on one side, allowing her to walk easily, and showed her slender figure to advantage. Jane and Jodie looked at her, momentarily speechless. Jane was the first to regain her voice.

"Daria, you're... you're..."

"Dressed?"

"...female!"

"Gee, thanks, Jane, I hadn't known you had doubts." Daria responded, unable to suppress a grin.

"No, I mean, you look like someone in one of Quinn's magazines."

"Yeah, Daria, the last time I saw you in a dress was for your cousin's wedding. This one looks a lot nicer." Jodie added.

"That's the benefit of buying custom from a competent dressmaker, rather than off-the-rack fitted by small-town bridal shop. Now it's your turn, Jane."

"I don't want to know how much these cost, do I?"

"I don't either, but Mom said it was okay to charge them both to her card, so don't sweat it."

Jane walked back into the fitting room, as Daria turned to examine herself in one of the mirrors.

"I do look pretty good, don't I?" She said over her shoulder to Jodie.

"Careful, Daria, you keep this up and we'll have trouble telling you from your sister," Jodie smiled as she spoke.

Daria glanced at her, with a smirk on her face. "Heh, you can't get my goat that easily. Unlike my sister, I can appreciate the outside, without believing it defines the inside."

"Is she really that shallow?"

"Seriously, no, but she does a very convincing impression. It's very irritating."

A quiet bell chimed, as the door to the shop opened and two young men entered. Michael Jordan MacKenzie, Mack to his friends, Captain of the Lawndale High football team, and Jodie's boyfriend, entered first. Another man, a stranger to both Jodie and Daria, followed him. The two were a study in contrasts: where Mack was dark skinned, and had black hair, the stranger had light blond hair and the fair skin of a Scandinavian. He was also nearly as short as Daria, with the wiry build of a long-distance runner. Mack, who was nearly six-foot tall, towered over him.

"Mack, you're early. Jane's still being fitted." Jodie said.

"Where's Daria?"

Daria turned from the mirror to look at him, faintly amused. "I'm standing right in front of you."

Mack, caught off guard, gaped at Daria. "Wow. What happened to you?"

"Clothing. I hear it's very popular this season among the in crowd."

The stranger laughed, attracting Jodie and Daria's attention.

"You haven't introduced us, Mack," Jodie said.

"Oh, right. This is Alex; he's the quarterback for Midland Falls. But unlike our QB, he's actually here because he's also in his school's model congress. Alex, this is Jodie, and our friend Daria."

"Charmed ladies," Alex said, with a faint accent, "Mack's mentioned you, Jodie," he turned to Daria, "but he failed to mention your lovely friend."

Daria looked back, amused by the unfamiliar attention her new clothes were drawing, but not exactly impressed. "I don't think you'd be saying that if I weren't wearing this expensive bait."

"It's not the bait that matters, it's the hook in it," Alex said, with a grin.

"I resemble that remark." Daria turned to Mack. "Are you sure you didn't tell him about me?"

"Nope. He figured you out all on his own. So, how long do we have to wait for Jane?"

"If they take as long with her as they did with Daria, it's going to be another half hour." Jodie said.

"I think Alex and I are going to head back to the hotel, then. We can get in a workout at the hotel fitness club. See you later?"

Jodie hugged Mack. "All right, go have your fun, but you better be cleaned up and in your tux by six, or you're a dead man. I am NOT going to spend the evening with Kevin and Brittany without your support."

Mack laughed, "Jodie, you know I wouldn't abandon you to a fate worse than death."

"It'll be your funeral if you do." She said, in an ominous tone.

Mack hugged her again, then he turned to Alex and gestured towards the door. Alex nodded to the two young women.

"Goodbye ladies, it was a pleasure meeting both of you. Especially you and your barbed wit, Daria."

"My wit and I enjoyed meeting you, as well."

The two young men turned and left, leaving Jodie and Daria together, looking after then.

"So, Daria, are you interested in him?"

Daria snapped her eyes towards Jodie. "I have a boyf... whatever. Remember?"

"I remember, but I wasn't certain if you did. You sure looked interested."

"He is... interesting, but I'm not that fickle."

"Okay. So, are you going to wear that dress all day?"

"I could. It's surprisingly comfortable. But it's a little on the formal side for tourism, don't you think?" She said, with a wistful tone.

Jodie laughed. "Oh, if I only had a video camera."

"You're beginning to sound like Jane, and I don't mean that in a nice way."

Daria turned, and headed back to the fitting room to change, followed by Jodie's laugh.

*

The shop door opened, and the three stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jane and Daria carried their purchases, boxed, in large shopping bags. Daria turned to the others, squinting against the bright mid-afternoon sun.

"Can you take this back to the hotel?" she said, holding up her bag, "I have an errand I need to run."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Jodie asked.

"No, it'll be simpler if I take care of it on my own."

Jane looked at Daria for a long moment, not speaking but with a slight frown, then she quirked an eyebrow. Daria's shoulders slumped, as she braced herself for another question she couldn't answer, but when Jane finally spoke, her words took Daria by surprise.

"Sure. Do what you need to do, I can carry two bags as easily as one."

Daria looked at Jane. Her friend's posture suggested weariness, and not simply from a long day of shopping. The elation she'd felt from finding formal clothing that actually made her look good leached away, leaving her depressed and tired.

"Thanks, Jane," she said, sadly, "I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. See you back at the hotel." 

Jane took the bag, and walked away. Jodie looked between the two, and then followed Jane. Daria watched them until they rounded the corner at the end of the block before she turned and set off on her own.

*

That evening, Daria and Jane, accompanied by Jodie and Mack, faced each other across the spacious back of a limousine. Mack was wearing a tux, while the other three wore gowns. Jane in red, and Jodie in peach. Daria smoothed the green fabric of her gown absently as she looked out the window with a distracted air. The rough texture of the heavy silk gave her something to occupy her senses, distracting her from thinking about the problem ahead, or the gulf that had grown between her and Jane.

Mack broke the silence. "That was pretty slick, Jodie, convincing Kevin and Brittany to ride in one of the other limos so they'd get there first for a good seat. I thought we were going to be stuck with them for the whole trip."

"Yeah, well we're still going to be stuck with them at our table. The seating assignments were all done in advance, and I couldn't change them."

The limo turned into the drive, and pulled up in front of the building. A uniformed attendant hurried over and opened the car door. Jodie and Mack exited first, followed by Jane. As Daria climbed out, uncertain in her unfamiliar shoes, her purse swung forward and hit Jane in the back.

"Ouch! Dammit, what do you have in that thing, a brick?" Jane protested, as she rubbed her back.

"Sorry Jane, just my wallet, cell phone and a book in case I get bored," Daria said, omitting to mention the two-way radio she'd picked up earlier in the day from another agent, the earpiece and microphone for which were now built into her glasses and a string of faux pearls she wore around her neck.

"That's some heavy reading. What is it, War and Peace?"

"You're a laugh a minute Jane."

They were directed down a spacious hallway with a thirty-foot ceiling. From the walls hung the flags of what appeared to be every country in the world. At the elevator they had to wait, as a line of guests was slowly processed through a temporary security checkpoint supervised by a small group of Marines in dress uniforms. Daria wasn't worried; her non-metallic gun was strapped to her leg. She'd move it to the purse later, once she was inside the security perimeter.

Finally, it was her turn. She placed her purse on the belt feeding the x-ray machine and stepped through the metal detector. On the far side, she handed the invitation Jodie had given her to one of the soldiers when asked. After verifying her invitation against a list, he pulled her aside to check her purse; the radio must have looked suspicious on the scanner. Examining the contents he came across her ID folder, and opened it. His eyes widened slightly, as he compared the photo to her face.

"Sorry to bother you Ms...." he began.

"Morgendorffer, Daria Morgendorffer," she said, pointedly. "I understand. You can never have too much security at an event like this, can you?"

He nodded, understanding the implied "Don't blow my cover." And returned the ID folder to her purse.

"Very true. I hope your evening holds nothing to mar your enjoyment of the reception."

"I certainly hope so as well, thank you, Major Stewart." She said, reading the name off his uniform, as she took the purse back from him.

As they waited for an elevator, Jane turned to Daria.

"I suppose that little bit of comedy is something else you can't discuss?" she asked, in a dejected voice.

Daria looked at Jodie and Mack, far enough aside that they were out of earshot. She looked over at her friend, and made a decision. "Jane, if I tell you what's going on, you can't tell anyone, ever," she said, softly.

Jane perked up. "You'll tell me?"

"I may need some help tonight, and I certainly don't need to be distracted by trying to avoid you. Promise? Not even Trent can know what happens tonight."

"Is it legal?" Jane asked, in a concerned tone.

"Yes."

"Very well, spill. I promise it will go to my grave with me."

"Bad choice of words," Daria said, "Here, look at this, and whatever you do, don't laugh." She handed her ID card folder to Jane.

Jane opened it, looked very closely, and then closed it and handed it back. "You're kidding, right? This is a joke, and you picked that up in a novelty store when you disappeared today?"

"You don't know how much I wish that were true right now."

"You're too young to be an FBI agent."

"I'm not one, but they cooperate with us, and no, I can't tell you who 'us' is."

"So, what are we doing here, Melody?"

"Jane, be serious, and don't do anything that would give me away. We're here because terrorists are going to try to kill the President tonight, and I'm supposed to stop them."

"Oh." Jane was silent for a few seconds. "Okay, I asked for this. Who, and how, and what do we have to do?"

"I don't know."

"Which don't you know?"

"All of the above. This is a real mess. I need to be alert for something, I don't know what, and stop it when it happens. There are several other agents scattered around the center tonight who are also watching, and will tip me off if they see anything. Just keep your eyes open for suspicious behavior, and let me know if you see anything odd."

"This is crazy, why don't we just warn the President?"

"Because if we do, the assassin will just try again the next time he comes out in public, and we won't necessarily have advance warning. It was a miracle we found out about this one in advance."

"So, we use the Chief Executive as bait for his own assassin. That seems a little risky."

"Hey, politicians are used to being sniped at, besides I didn't vote for him."

"You didn't vote for either of them, you turned eighteen after the election."

"Picky, picky, picky. Yeah, it's a stupid plan, but it's the one I'm stuck with."

"It's nice to know Ms. Li's just as bad at being a spymaster as she is at being a principal."

"I never said anything about Ms. Li."

"You didn't need to. I listened at the door the day you started your independent study."

"Oh." Daria considered that, briefly. It helped explain why Jane had been so suspicious. "Angela isn't really that bad, just understaffed and overworked."

"Angela? You and her being on a first name basis has to be the weirdest part of all of this."

"Funny, you wearing an evening gown is the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

Jane's retort, if any, was cut off by Jodie calling out. "Hey, hurry up you two! The elevator's here, and I'm not going to hold it for you."

"Coming!" Jane yelled, then, turning to Daria, "After you, Mata Hari."

"I knew telling you would be a mistake," Daria said, with a smirk. For some reason, she felt more confident of success now than she had before. After all, how many people could there be here? With an extra pair of eyes on the lookout, the chances of seeing something out of place had improved significantly. Her good mood continued as she rode up to the rooftop level.

Then she exited the elevator, and stopped abruptly. A mob of students milled about the hallway, spilling out onto the terraces at either end. There were hundreds of them, maybe close to a thousand. This was going to be more complicated than she'd expected.

**THE END (of chapter 3)**

**Next week:** Chapter 4, Last Tango in Washington: In which Daria makes a deal with the devil, dodges bullets, and learns to dance.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	4. Last Tango in Washington

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March 2001 

* * *

**CHAPTER 4- Last Tango in Washington**

Daria, followed by Jane, walked down the hallway from the elevator and out onto the west terrace of the Kennedy Center roof, overlooking the river. The sun was just setting, but the late spring air was still quite warm. Tables were scattered along the length of the terrace, except for a cleared area at the far end, in front of a makeshift bandstand. Instrumental music played quietly from speakers, but it must have been a recording, as no musicians were in sight.

Daria looked over the terrace, counting quietly to herself. Assuming the other terraces were as densely packed, she estimated that there were between seventy and a hundred tables set for eight people each. One of whom, or perhaps one of the dozens of white-clad servers bustling about making last-minute adjustments to the tables, was an assassin. She turned to Jane.

"Well, this complicates matters slightly."

"I take it you weren't expecting this many people?"

"Not hardly. I should have realized any event Ms. Li could foist the entire football team, and the cheerleaders, on at the last minute would have to be fairly large."

Jodie called from up ahead: "Hey, you two, c'mon. Let's get to our table before someone steals the rolls."

"Spoken like a veteran of many formal dinners. But she's got a point, we might as well eat while we try to figure out a plan," Daria said to Jane.

"Works for me. But shouldn't you try to get closer to the President, or isn't he here yet?" Jane replied.

"He's here, but they're keeping him secluded in one of the lounges with the school advisors. He's not due out here until it's time for his speech, after dinner. One of my people is watching him, and they've planted a bug on him so we can monitor him closely."

"My, what big ears you have, grandma," Jane said, "but you'll look a little out of place holding a radio up during dinner."

"The radio's in my purse. The earpiece is built into my glasses, and there's a microphone in my pearls," Daria replied. "That's what I slipped away this afternoon to pick up. Let's go join Jodie. I see Kevin and Brittany have already found our table, and it would be cruel to leave her and Mack alone with them."

"And this is a problem, why?" Jane replied, but followed as Daria walked towards the table.

At the table, Brittany and Kevin, for once not wearing their team uniforms, were already seated. Brittany wore an attractive dress, in dark blue. Coupled with her blond hair, it matched the school colors of blue and yellow. Apparently, even in formal wear she didn't stray too far from her cheerleader's uniform. Kevin wore a black tux, and his cummerbund was a checkerboard pattern in the school colors. Along with them were two other students Daria recognized vaguely from school, although she couldn't remember their names. Perhaps she'd never known them.

"Hey Daria," Brittany said, brightly, with a squeak, "that's a beautiful dress."

"Thank you, Brittany, I like your dress too."

As the others sat down, Daria turned to Jane, who had already sliced a roll open and was buttering it liberally.

"I need to powder my nose. Save me some rolls?"

"Sure thing."

Daria headed for the ladies room. Time to check in with the other team members, and also relocate her gun from its hiding place strapped to her leg to a more accessible location in her purse.

*

Exiting the ladies room, which had been packed, Daria was looking for a quiet corner where she could contact her team when she spotted someone in a tuxedo entering a service hallway. He was looking the other way, so his face was not visible, but none of the guests had reason to be wandering the building. She followed quietly.

At the hallway entrance she peered through the crack between the two doors. The person she was following was about twenty feet ahead, just turning a corner, and he held a gun in one hand. As soon as he was out of sight, she slipped into the hallway, and drew her own gun, as well as her ID folder, from her purse. Then she toggled the radio's send button.

"Cynic to Fingers, do you copy?" she said, as softly as she could.

"Go ahead Cynic," came the voice of her communications specialist.

"I'm entering the west service hallway, following a man in a tux carrying a handgun. Is anyone else near by?"

"Nope. Glasscutter is working the terrace. She's in cover, and I have to wait for her to call me. And the backup team hasn't arrived yet."

"Huh? Why not?" she asked, irritated. They should have been here before the students started to arrive.

"Traffic jam on the beltway, due to an accident. They'll be here in ten minutes."

"Okay, I'll handle this myself. If you don't hear from me in ten minutes, call Ops for instructions."

"Roger that, keep your head down."

She quietly made her way down the corridor.

"Damn, I really don't want to be doing this," she said to herself.

Approaching the corner, she heard a scuffing sound, perhaps a shoe on concrete, just around the corner. Taking a deep breath, she held her ID folder out in her left hand, and the gun close to her chest in her right. Just like the training sessions, Morgendorffer, she thought to herself, don't think about the fact that this time it's a real gun out there. Just do as you're trained.

She stepped rapidly, but smoothly, around the corner, holding her ID out in front.

"Federal agent, freeze!" she shouted, and then froze, looking into the barrel of a handgun from less than two feet away.

Her assailant also froze, looking into the barrel of her gun. The two held the tableaux for several seconds, before she took in the identity of the other person.

"Alex?"

Alex, Mack's friend from Midland Falls, looked back at her. If anything, he was more surprised than she.

"Daria?"

Then his eyes shifted to her ID, and he seemed to relax slightly.

"Or, should I say agent Powers?"

He took a breath.

"Look, I'm going to put my gun away. Don't shoot me while I do that, okay?"

"Works for me," she said, keeping her gun trained on him.

He slowly lowered his gun, thumbing the safety on, and returned it to a holster under his jacket.

"Can I see some ID, Alex?"

"I can show you my ID, but it may not help much."

He gingerly reached into a pocket, and pulled out a folder similar to hers, flipping it open. She looked at it for several seconds, never lowering her gun, then looked back at him.

"Okay Alex, you're right, it doesn't help much. I can't read Cyrillic, but I don't suppose the U. S. government issues ID cards in Russian anyway, do they?"

A wry smile appeared on his face. The effect was distracting, and she had to concentrate to keep her gun steady.

"I realize this looks bad, but I'm one of the good guys, honest."

"You're a Russian agent, armed, in the same building as the President. That looks very bad. Care to explain yourself?"

"I'm with the Russian Secret Police, one of the groups that took over from the KGB after the breakup of the Soviet Union. We're similar to your FBI. I'm here on the trail of some terrorists backed by a group of ex-Communist hardliners. I think they're here to make an attempt on your President's life. My government doesn't want that kind of instability right now, and if it became known that the assassin had been backed by Russians, it could impair our relations for years. My orders are to keep your President alive, at all costs."

"And I should believe this because...?"

"Because the President is in a lounge downstairs, and I'm sneaking around up here. Look, we can wait here until your backup arrives and arrests me, but all that will do is give them time to act. I propose we join forces; we both want the same thing."

Daria considered. Her backup wouldn't be here for ten minutes, and she had no way to call on the other security forces in the building without causing the Secret Service to evacuate the President, which would prevent them from flushing out the terrorists. And Alex did have a point, only an idiot would be flashing a gun this far away from his target, unless his objective wasn't the President at all. And Alex hadn't impressed her as an idiot. She thumbed her safety on, and lowered her gun. Alex let out his breath, and relaxed, as she placed her gun and ID in her purse.

"Okay, I buy it. Do you know who or where they are?" she asked.

"No, I've just been told to keep my eyes open. We were warned of this attempt at the last minute. And, by the way, my friends call me Alexei. Are you Daria, or Melody?"

"Daria. Melody's just a cover."

She thumbed her radio.

"Fingers, this is Cynic, do you copy?"

"Roger Cynic, good to hear from you. How's it going?"

"False lead, my suspect turned out to be a Russian Secret Service agent, not one of the terrorists. He's hunting them too. Designate him codename 'Ivan'. We're going to pool resources and see what we can figure out. I'm returning to the terrace."

She turned to Alex, or Alexei.

"We should get back to the others, unless you have a better idea."

"No, there's nothing to be done for now. I presume you have people watching the President?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"No, security is too tight to get that close this late in the game. My people are all in the serving staff upstairs."

The two of them began to walk back towards the terrace.

"I saw where Mack was sitting, are you at the same table?" He asked.

"Yes, why?"

"If anything comes up, I'll swing by and ask you to join me in admiring the city skyline."

"Great, that'll cause some gossip. I've got a boyf... whatever."

"Do you want to use another signal?" he asked.

"Nope. Let 'em gossip."

*

Daria leaned back as one of the servers cleared the empty dessert plates from the table. That had been a fairly decent meal. Not gourmet, but certainly better than the rubber chicken that had been served at her cousin's wedding. Someone had spent some serious money on the catering. In fact, reserving the entire roof of the Kennedy Center couldn't have been cheap either, which, now that she thought of it, was odd for a reception for a bunch of high school students. It was a more exposed location than a typical hotel function room would have been, and she wondered if there could be a connection. Follow the money was sound advice in terrorism, as well as crime. She'd have to ask someone back at Ops to do some research. It was time to check in with her team, as well. She stood up.

"Well, I need to take a walk to settle dinner, and begin burning some of it off. Want to come, Jane?"

"Sure, as long as you walk slowly. I think I've gained ten pounds in the last thirty minutes."

"Probably, you ate three desserts."

"Hey, I have a weakness for chocolate mousse."

The two strolled slowly down towards the bandstand, where musicians were beginning to set up their instruments. It looked like a jazz band, with a piano, and several large stringed instruments, although Daria wasn't enough of a musician to be sure. There were violins, which she didn't think belonged in a typical jazz band, and a guitar that also seemed out of place. It certainly wasn't Mystik Spiral, though; there were no drums in sight. She turned to Jane as they walked.

"I need to call my team and check in. Make it look like we're talking, and elbow me if anyone comes up behind us, okay?"

"Got it."

Daria thumbed the transmit button of her radio, which was disguised as a button on her purse.

"Fingers, this is Cynic, what's our status?"

"Hey Cynic, the backup team arrived, and is in place downstairs. Otherwise, no change. How was dinner?"

"Pretty good. Can you give Ops a ring, and ask them to find out who selected the location for tonight's bash, and who's paying for it?"

"Can do. I'll call you back when I hear from them."

"Roger, Cynic out."

She turned back to Jane.

"Okay, that's it with the cloak and dagger for a while. C'mon, I want you to meet someone."

Daria led Jane over to the table where she'd seen Alex sitting as they walked. He looked up from his dessert as they approached, and Daria could see from the plates that is was his second. Someone else had a weakness for chocolate mousse, it appeared.

"Alex, this is Jane. You missed her at the dress shop the other day. If you're through eating gourmet junk food, would you care to walk with us?"

Alex picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, stood up, and smiled at Jane.

"What, monopolize two of the most interesting women at this bacchanal? That's even more decadent than this dessert. It would be my pleasure."

Jane looked at Alex, slightly irritated. She tended to dislike people who felt it necessary to show off their ability to memorize useless words, especially when they misused them.

"Nobody uses 'bacchanal' in a sentence, and this funeral is far too sedate to be one anyway. What have you been drinking?"

"Coffee. I have enough trouble pronouncing 'bacchanal' sober," he said, with an infectious grin.

Daria motioned the two to walk, and once away from the table spoke quietly to Jane.

"Jane, this is Mack's friend, Alex. We met at the dressmakers shop while you were being fitted. He's also here for the same reason I am, although he has slightly different employers." She turned to Alex. "This is Jane, my best friend. She's a civilian, but she knows what's going on."

The three moved towards the edge of the terrace, overlooking the river, Roosevelt Island, and the Arlington skyline beyond. Although it was now full dark, the landscape was brightly illuminated by the rising moon. The river drew a glossy black line against the surrounding land. Daria turned and leaned back against the edge of the wall surrounding the terrace, facing the other two.

"Alex, none of my people have spotted anything. Have you had any luck?"

Alex frowned as he replied: "No, they seem to be keeping a low profile. My people have seen a couple of them in the past, so there's a good chance they'd recognize any of them among the staff, but those faces haven't shown up. This is bad. If they're using someone new, we may have very little warning."

"Well, at least you have that much. My people are reduced to looking for anyone with suspicious bulges under their coats, or lurking in the wrong place. So far, all we've found is you."

"Yes, but you did find me. That suggests that if someone else was behaving oddly, you'd notice them, too."

"Maybe, or maybe I was just lucky, or you were just clumsy," Daria said, frowning, as she let her eyes drift over the crowd on the terrace.

As they stood there, the band began to tune their instruments. A mischievous grin illuminated Alex's face, as he turned to Jane.

"Excuse me, Jane, but I need to steal Daria away for a few minutes," he said, taking Daria's hand. Daria followed, only realizing that he was headed for the cleared area in front of the band when they were nearly there.

"Huh? Alex, what are you planning? I thought you wanted to talk. I can't dance. I don't know how."

"I do want to talk, and this is the easiest place to do so privately. As for dancing, just do what I do. You're not being judged on performance here, if you miss a few steps nobody will care."

"What if I maim someone with my purse?" Daria said, as she allowed herself to be led out onto the dance floor.

"Then we'll apologize, and if that doesn't work, I'll throw them in the river until they cool off," he said, with a grin. "Relax. This will be fun."

The band launched into its first number, and Daria realized she'd been wrong. It wasn't a jazz band, unless it was one with a very strong South American influence. This was a tango, she realized, as the rhythm grabbed her, and then she was too busy following Alex to worry about her lack of skill, or the fact that they were one of the few couples on the floor, or anything. If someone had assassinated the President in front of her, she probably would have missed it.

She concentrated on not stepping on Alex's feet, or tripping over her own, letting him lead as she learned the pattern. Gradually she became comfortable with the dance, and could bring herself to think of something other than where to put her feet.

"So, you wanted to talk?" she asked.

"Yes, your friend, how certain of her are you?"

"More certain than I am of you, why?"

"She reminds me of someone I met once. I can't recall who, and it's probably my memory playing tricks, but I didn't want to let her know who I was until I was certain."

"Well, I've known her two years, and she's had the same background check as I have, so it's very unlikely she's anyone other than who she claims to be. But if you need to keep your identity secret, that's fine with me."

Conversation stopped briefly, as he spun her away from him. Other dancers had joined them on the floor, as well, so there was less privacy. After an interval he continued their conversation as if it hadn't been interrupted.

"No, it's okay if she knows. This cover was blown the moment I showed you my ID card. I'll be transferred after tonight. Hopefully we'll be successful, and I'll get a promotion out of it. If not, I'll probably be reassigned to office work. We'd better succeed. I hate winter in Moscow."

"Right. Now I'm really motivated."

"Hey, he's your President. I didn't vote for him. I have my own worries."

The music ended, and the nearby diners who had been watching the dancers applauded. Daria realized that she was one of the ones being applauded, and felt her cheeks heating. Alex looked over at her, with an amused chuckle that made her knees weak. Then a voice cracked in her ear.

"Cynic, this is Fingers. I've lost contact with the agent in the Presidential lounge, and the bug picked up gunshots. I think we've got a situation."

Daria froze, stunned. Why would they make their move in a securely guarded lounge, rather than on the open roof? Then training reasserted itself: think about why later; deal with what was happening now. She thumbed her transmit button.

"Fingers, tell everyone to move towards the lounge. Don't worry about maintaining cover. If the Secret Service can hold them off, we may still be able to stop this before it's too late."

She looked up and caught Jane's eyes, waving her over, then turned and set off for a stairwell at a run, with Alex close behind.

"What's happening?" he asked, as he caught up with her.

"Gunshots, in the lounge." she responded.

He moved his hand to his belt, and snapped off a few sentences in Russian.

Jane caught up with them as they hit the door to the stairwell, and started down. Exiting at ground level they nearly bowled over a Marine guarding the entrance. Daria recognized the Major she'd met earlier.

"Attack on the President," she barked, as she ran past him, followed by Alex and Jane, "come with us."

The four of them dashed down a hallway, and into a cross corridor. Up ahead was a knot of people. The last person in the group looked up at them, and raised a submachine gun. Daria shoved Jane back into the corridor they'd just exited, diving after her as bullets chewed the wall. Alex and the Major took refuge in the limited cover offered by a stack of boxes on the far side of the corridor, returning fire with their pistols. The submachine gun fire cut off, and the Major bounced erect like an uncoiling spring.

"I saw the President in that group, but those weren't Secret Service agents. He's being kidnapped!"

He took off at a run, followed by Alex, and then Daria and Jane. They followed the kidnappers downs a service stairway, and came out below the JFK balcony in time to hear an outboard motor as a boat, hidden from view by trees along the riverbank, shot out into the channel. The Major raised his gun, but apparently decided that he was just as likely to hit the President as the terrorists. Daria thumbed her microphone.

"Fingers, Cynic here, the President's been kidnapped. Do we have a trace on him?"

"Shit! Yeah, if he's out in the middle of the river, we've got a trace."

"Good. Get the van moving, we'll join up out front. Two women in dresses, a short blond guy in a tux, and a Marine in dress uniform. You can't miss us." She turned to the others. "Let's move, people, we've got a ride to catch!"

She turned, and ran for the street. Not looking to see if anyone was following.

**THE END (of Chapter 4)**

**Next week:** Chapter 5, Executive Disorder: In which the president is rescued, and the situation worsens.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	5. Executive Disorder

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March 2001. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 5 - Executive Disorder**

Daria ran to the curb, as a nondescript dark brown van screeched to a halt, and a door swung open on its side. She jumped in, followed by Alexei, Jane, and the Marine Major, who closed the door as the van took off. A solid wall, with a sliding door, cut off the front of the van, and the back was quite crowded. In addition to the four of them, and a large collection of communications and computer equipment, a thirty-ish, balding, man in a wheelchair occupied much of the space. The wheels were held in place by clamps, preventing the chair from moving as the van lurched. He was wearing headphones, and gave the impression of intent concentration, but looked up as the door closed.

"Good to see you again, Fingers." Said Daria. "Who's driving?"

The man slid his headphones off, and reached over to shake her hand.

"Welcome aboard. Glasscutter's at the wheel, and the backup team will be following shortly, as soon as they check on the agent who was with the President in the lounge."

He looked past her at the others, and raised an eyebrow eloquently. Daria turned, and realized that he had no way of knowing who the others were.

"Introduction time, but no names. This is Fingers, my communications specialist. I'm Cynic while we're here." She faced Fingers again, and gestured behind her, to the other three. "The guy in the tux is Ivan, Russian Secret Service." Major Stewart started, and edged slightly away from Alexei at that revelation. "The Marine is Major Stewart, from the President's security detachment, and...hmm." She turned to Jane, "You need a codename."

"Call me Artist." Jane said.

"Artist it is."

She turned back to Fingers.

"Do you have any clothing more suitable for running about than evening wear?" She asked.

"There are some black coveralls in the cabinet, and some boots, but I don't know if they'll fit you."

Daria dug through the cabinet, pulling out two sets of clothing that looked to be the right sizes. The boots were on the large side, but the cabinet contained wool socks, and a couple of pairs provided an acceptable fit. The Major in his uniform and Alexei, already wearing a black tuxedo, didn't need to change. The men turned their backs on Jane and Daria as they dressed in the dark clothing, while Fingers went back to monitoring his instruments. As the two changed, the van lurched several times, taking corners or changing lanes at high speed. Fingers occasionally gave terse directions to the driver over his radio. Finally, Daria transferred her radio and gun from her purse to her belt and stuffed her new dress and purse unceremoniously into the cabinet. Hopefully it wouldn't wrinkle too badly, but there were more important concerns on her mind at the moment.

"I'm going to go up front and talk to our driver. The rest of you see if you can figure out what we're going to do when we catch up with the terrorists."

She squeezed past the others, and slipped through the door into the front. As she slid into the passengers seat, she looked over at the driver.

"Hi Glasscutter, nice to meet..." She stopped abruptly.

"Hi Daria," Brittany squeaked, as she threw the van around a slow-moving sedan, "so you're Cynic, huh? Nice name. It suits you."

Daria just stared, her brain refusing to process the information it was taking in. It was clearly Brittany, already wearing a coverall like hers, driving the van. Brittany, the airheaded cheerleader, who was marginally less stupid than her boyfriend Kevin. Not that that was saying much. Daria suspected there were houseplants less stupid than Kevin.

"Brittany," she finally said, "you're Glasscutter? The cat burglar?"

"That's me. Surprised?"

"You could say so, although that word doesn't begin to do justice to what I'm feeling. How long have you been doing this?"

"Oh, a couple of years now. Ever since Ms. Li caught me breaking into the school office to fix Kevin's grades so he wouldn't be thrown off the team."

"I see. I always wondered how he managed to stay on the team."

Daria grabbed the dash, as Brittany braked suddenly to avoid ramming a car that stopped at a yellow light, and swerved around it with inches to spare.

"So, what exactly does Ms. Li need a cat burglar for, anyway? I was in Ops when you almost got caught leaving the German Embassy last week. Is that what you do?"

"Well, mostly it's breaking into the homes of suspected foreign agents to plant bugs. As a cheerleader I have a perfect excuse to travel to towns all over the state for part of the year. I don't break into well-protected places like the Embassy very often; I always seem to nearly get caught when I do." Brittany responded with a pensive look. "But this time was important. The Germans had some information about a shipment of NATO weapons that had been stolen, and for some reason they wouldn't share it."

Daria considered Brittany. Clearly, she was more intelligent than she normally let on at school. Daria debated asking her why she acted like a dunce, but decided that there was no tactful way to phrase such a question. She turned her thoughts instead to Brittany's comment about the weapons.

"That's odd. We're allies, and both part of NATO, I wonder why they would keep something like that secret from us."

"Yeah," Brittany answered, "and it's not like they were modern weapons either, or even usable ones."

"What do you mean?" Daria asked, puzzled; NATO troops didn't always have cutting-edge weapons, but they were hardly armed with World War II relics.

"Well, I read a couple of the papers before I took them, and they were talking about broken arrows. I didn't know soldiers still used bows."

Daria mentally revised her estimate of Brittany's intelligence downwards, as her blood ran cold.

"Brittany, 'broken arrow' is code for a missing nuclear weapon." 

"Eep!" was Brittany's reply.

The two sat silently for several minutes, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Then a voice cracked in Daria's earphone.

"Cynic, can you come back here? We've got some ideas, but we need to do some planning."

"Roger Fingers, I'll be right there." She stood up to make her way back, with a final comment to Brittany. "Jane's in the back. She's not one of us, so she shouldn't know you're here. Try to keep out of sight, and only talk on the radio so she won't hear your voice directly."

"Good idea, Daria. I'll be careful."

Daria slid the door open, and stepped through, not at all reassured.

*

A short time later, the van pulled up behind an unremarkable block of buildings, the back side of a strip mall. This late, the stores were closed, and the area was characterized by the desolation that only an abandoned suburban shopping center possesses. The side door of the van opened, and the team climbed out, leaving Jane and Fingers in the van. After Daria slid the door closed, the front door opened, and Brittany joined the others.

"Okay, folks," Daria said, "Fingers says our quarry's in that building. Lets take a look."

"We really should wait for my squad to arrive," said the Major.

"If there's any evidence that there's more than the small group that left the reception with him, we will, but we're better off recovering the President quickly if we have the opportunity. For all we know, there may be a large force on the way in a helicopter. We can't give them time to follow whatever plan they have, we need to take the initiative."

"I can't argue with your tactics. I'm just worried that four people with pistols may be outgunned by a handful of terrorists with automatic weapons."

"I'm worried about that too, but it's a risk we need to take." With that, Daria headed for the building, followed by the others.

Back in the van, Jane turned to Fingers as the door closed, irritation plain on her face.

"Dammit, where does she get off telling me to wait here? I want to help."

"You said yourself you didn't know how to use a pistol, and you have no training for a fight. The best way to help is by staying out of the way and letting them get on with their jobs. Why do you think I'm sitting on my butt in here?"

"Because it's difficult to dive through a doorway with guns blazing in a wheelchair?" Jane snapped, and instantly regretted her words. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Sure you did," Fingers said, grinning, "and it's true. I'd just be in the way for this kind of work. I'm much more useful here with my equipment. There are other times when my wheels don't get in the way and I can play a more active part. There'll be other times for you, too."

Jane sat on the edge of the communications console, and examined him more closely. Before she'd just seen the wheelchair, and hadn't noticed the person in it particularly. He was younger than he'd seemed at first glance, probably late twenties. He looked older because his sandy hair had begun to recede, and he wore a conservative shirt with a button-down collar. His arms were heavily muscled, and he wore fingerless leather gloves on his hands, apparently for propelling the chair. Both legs ended abruptly just above where his knees should have been.

"You seem at home in that chair," She said, at last, "have you always been...?" She trailed off, not knowing how to end the question.

Her embarrassment elicited another grin from Fingers. "What, legless? No, I lost them to impatience, stupidity and a youthful conviction of my own immortality. During the Gulf War I took a shortcut through an empty lot rather than walk around it on the road like other people. Turned out there was a reason they were avoiding it. But I was fresh off the plane and too dumb to know we'd just moved into that area and hadn't yet had a chance to sweep everywhere for landmines."

"Ouch." Said Jane, looking sick.

"Yeah. Fortunately there was an aid station right there, and they saved my life. I didn't think they'd done me any favors at the time. I'd been a soccer star during high school, and suddenly being immobile seemed like the end of my life. I went through a few bad years, before I accepted things. But I have a decent job installing security systems for businesses now, and I moonlight for these folks when they need me. I've even competed in a couple of small marathons. It's not the same as running, but it is athletic, and it beats the hell out of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself." He paused, briefly. "So, what do you do?"

"You mean when I'm not chasing Presidential kidnappers?" Jane asked, with a touch of her usual humor. "I'm an artist. Mainly paint, some sculpture. Nothing commercial, yet, but hopefully once I'm out of high school I'll be able to change that. I'm also a runner, although I've never been serious enough about it to train for a marathon. That would seem too much like work to me."

"Yeah, it's a lot of work. But crossing that finish line, even though I was way back in the pack, was quite a rush. I'm going to do it again, as soon as I can."

"Can't argue with that. Any word from them yet?"

"No, not since they entered the building, but I expected that. They're going to keep quiet to avoid giving themselves away."

*

After Brittany picked the lock on a back door, the Major and Alexei jumped in, darting to each side and looking around. Daria followed quickly after them, and Brittany came last and closed the door.

They stood in a dark room, lit mainly by the red exit sign above the door they'd just entered through. Light leaked under a door at the far side of the room, and metal shelving occupied by boxes was between them and the door. Daria moved quietly around the shelves and up to the door, and the others followed. At the door, she listened with her ear against it for several minutes, before turning to the others.

"I hear two voices, speaking Russian. Alexei, see if you can figure out what they're talking about."

Alexei moved up and listened. Brittany pulled Daria aside and whispered into her ear.

"Da..., I mean Cynic, I have a fiberscope for looking under doors that we can use to check out the room."

"Great, why didn't you mention it sooner?"

"Well, it wouldn't work on the back door, there wasn't a gap large enough."

"Okay, get it out and lets see what we've got."

Brittany unzipped a pouch on her belt and pulled out a small LCD screen wired to a metal cable about two feet long. Uncoiling it, she turned the screen on, and fed the end of the cable under the door. The screen lit with an image of a large room, apparently a showroom for a stereo store.

Brittany manipulated a pair of handles and the image shifted from side to side as the cable moved like a snake. Then a couch came into view. Seated on it was the President, with two men standing next to him. One man held a submachine gun, while the other appeared unarmed. The President's hands and ankles were taped together, but he was unharmed.

Alexei stepped back from the door and spoke quietly to the Major and Daria.

"They're waiting for someone to come with a car, and they're nervous. One of them said something about being out of the country before Tuesday night."

The Major spoke. "The door doesn't have a lock, and there are only two of them. I suggest we go in, take out the armed one but keep the other for questioning, and get the President the hell out of here."

Daria nodded. "Good plan. You and I will go through first. You take the armed one, and I'll cover the other."

Alexei objected, "Let me handle him. Unless I miss my guess you've never had to shoot someone, and you might hesitate if you need to. I don't have that problem."

Daria considered this.

"Okay. That's reasonable, and this is no time to take a chance."

"I must object," Said the Major, "this man is a foreign agent. We can't let him near the President with a gun."

"I'll be right behind him with my gun, and if he doesn't do the right thing, I will shoot him. Maybe I'll freeze up, but it's less of a risk than depending on me to kill an unarmed man who makes the wrong move." She met the Major's eyes, unblinking, until he looked away.

"I really don't like this, but all right," He turned to Alexei, "but one wrong move and I'll kill you myself."

"It's a pleasure working with you, too." Said Alexei, with a sardonic twist to his mouth.

The three stood ready, with Brittany crouched by the floor beside the door, keeping the camera trained on the couch. The Major grabbed the doorknob, and with a glance at the others, turned it and shoved the door open, stepping through and to the left. Alexei followed, jumping to the right.

The major shot, twice, and the armed terrorist dropped. The other turned, with a panicked look, and grabbed for a gun in his waistband. Alexei calmly shot him in the shoulder and he fell back against the couch. Before he could recover from the shock of being hit, Alexei had crossed the room, and pulled him onto the floor, covering him with his pistol.

The Major dashed to the president, and began to untie him, speaking to him in a low voice. At the same time, Daria joined Alexei, and quickly bound the terrorist using the same roll of tape the terrorists had used on the president. She also tore a strip from his jacket, and taped it over the wound in his shoulder as a crude bandage to stop the bleeding.

Daria kept a close eye on Alexei, but as soon as the terrorist was restrained he moved to the archway leading into the main part of the store to watch for any others, waving an "all clear" back to her after he'd looked around. Reassured, she gestured the Major back towards the door. The President, helped by the Major, walked stiffly, his feet apparently numb from reduced circulation while they were taped. Alexei returned to Daria, holstering his gun.

After the other two had left the room, Alexei spoke to Daria in a low voice. "I think this is where we part ways. I'd hate to give your people the temptation of questioning a Russian agent, and with your President safe, my mission's done."

"Good idea." Daria hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words.

Alexei smiled, and leaned forward, kissing her briefly on the cheek.

"Dosvedanya. It's been a pleasure working with you, Daria. Take care. Maybe we'll meet again some time. It's a smaller world than you'd think."

With that, he turned and made for the front of the store. Daria smiled bemusedly after him for a short time, then grabbed the injured terrorist by the collar, and pushing him ahead of her, hurried after the Major.

*

Outside the building, the Major was helping the President into the van. Brittany was already out of sight in the front of the vehicle. Daria pushed the injured terrorist into the van, climbed in herself, and closed the door behind her.

"Let's get the hell out of here before anyone else shows up." She turned to the Major. "Back to the Kennedy Center, or would you rather go somewhere else?"

"My troops are on their way to join us, we can rendezvous with them and transfer the President to a more secure vehicle than this. Then we'll return to the White House."

Unexpectedly, the President spoke up. His voice was calm and controlled, too controlled. There was an echo of the night's stress in the precision with which he selected and pronounced his words. Regardless, they were clear and unequivocal. The words of someone with no doubt that his orders will be followed.

"No. Not the White House. My captors said that they had kidnapped me to get me away from the city because I was in danger there. They claimed that there was going to be a bombing sometime in the next several days and I would be in danger as long as I remained in the city. Take me to Andrews Air Force Base. I will work from Air Force One until we resolve this situation."

"Yes sir!" The Major said, bracing to attention.

The President turned his attention to Daria.

"Young lady, Major Stewart tells me you are an FBI agent. You seem a trifle on the young side for that, but in any case I want to thank you for your role in getting me out of there. That was well done."

Daria was surprised by her reaction. She had a tendency to dislike authority figures simply because they were authority figures. But the President's approval meant something to her. Maybe it was simply his skill in public speaking, or maybe she was more of a patriot than she would have thought, but at his words her heart beat a little faster, and she stood a little straighter as she looked at him.

"Thank you sir, but we were only doing our jobs. And we aren't actually FBI; we're from another agency that would prefer not to mention its name, in the present company." She said, looking aside at the terrorist as she did so.

The President nodded. "Understood. Tell your Colonel 'hello' from me, and that I will come visit her some time when things are less hectic. Also, ask her to look into this terrorist threat and report to me as soon as possible what form it could take."

"Yes, sir. I'll pass your message along immediately."

The van came to a stop, and Fingers looked up from his equipment.

"We're at the rendezvous, Major. Your men are waiting." He said.

The Major opened the door, and stepped out, exchanging a recognition sign with another Marine, who was flanked by several people in dark suits, presumably the President's Secret Service bodyguards. He helped the President down, as the others came over to escort him to a waiting limousine, and before he departed himself, he spoke briefly to Daria and the others.

"Cynic, Fingers, Artist, thank you, and pass my thanks to the rest of your team. As the President said, that was very well done. I hope we meet again, under more pleasant circumstances."

He turned, and jogged over to the waiting limousine and its escort of dark sedans. Daria closed the door.

"Fingers, ask Glasscutter to take us back to the party. Maybe we can sneak back in so nobody will know we disappeared. And call Ops with the Presidents request. Ask the Colonel if it might be related to Glasscutter's German operation earlier this week."

Fingers spoke to Brittany via radio, and the van began to move. Then he slid off his headphones, and turned to Daria.

"Off we go. By the way, while you were inside Ops called back with an answer to your question about the reception. The location was chosen by a steering committee for the model congress program, and it was paid for by donations from several of the committee members. The principle contributor, and the man who appears to have suggested the location, was the chairman of the committee. The Colonel said you knew him: Angier Sloane."

Fingers put his headphones back on and began to talk to Ops. Daria exchanged glances with Jane. Angier was the father of Daria's boyfriend, Tom. Tom had formerly been Jane's boyfriend, and both of them knew Tom's family fairly well. Angier was a respected businessman, and it was unlikely that he'd be involved in any terrorist plot. But he was their only lead at present, and they were going to have to check him out. This could get complicated.

**THE END (of Chapter 5)**

**Next week:** Chapter 6, A Small Town in Maryland: In which Daria returns home, and learns that 'heredity or environment' isn't just an academic question, and that appearances can be deceiving indeed. 

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

I haven't included any notes since Chapter 1, so it's about time I tied up some loose details.

Publication Schedule:

My goal is to put one chapter out per week, each weekend. So far I've been hitting this, usually by 23:59 Sunday night, U.S. Eastern time (GMT -5 right now, -4 in April), although it may be later if fanfiction.net is less responsive than usual. New chapters are announced on the Announcements message board of the Paperpusher's site as soon as they are posted.

Title origins:

Most of these titles draw somehow from other books/films involving espionage, terrorism, or something related. A few come from nowhere in particular. In any case the contents of the chapter rarely has much to do with the original inspiration of the title, but I try to use titles that relate to the chapter somehow.

Chapter 1: Satellite Transmission Jammer - as previously noted, this comes from a brief comment by Ms. Li in Fizz Ed about the cost of such a device. In the chapter, Daria becomes suspicious of the behavior of a satellite dish antenna on the school roof.

Chapter 2: A View to a Spill - Derives from the title of the James Bond film, A View to a Kill. Kevin falls in a fountain at the end of the chapter. Okay, it's weak, I admit it. But I liked the title.

Chapter 3: Mission Implausible - Obviously derives from Mission: Impossible. And what could be more implausible than a high school girl saving the President from an assassin?

Chapter 4: Last Tango in Washington - The title is a variation on Last Tango in Paris. In the episode, Daria dances the tango with Alex, a scene inspired by the two tango scenes in True Lies.

Chapter 5: Executive Disorder - An Executive Order is a directive signed by the President. The Chief Executive being kidnapped is fairly disorderly. See the connection?

Chapter 6: A Small Town in Maryland - From the John LeCarre novel, A Small Town in Germany. The town is Lawndale, of course, since this is the chapter where Daria returns home from Washington. For purposes of this story I'm presuming Lawndale is in Maryland, one of the places that's been suggested as a possible location. Before anyone notes all the reasons Lawndale can't be in Maryland, I'll just point out that this story would make much less sense if it were in California, Texas, or New England.

Presidential Security:

The Secret Service is responsible for protecting the president, among other duties. The Marine Corp provides security for some government facilities, including foreign embassies. Having the Marines provide perimeter security at the reception may have been a bit of a stretch, but I didn't have time to research who really would be responsible for such and still hit my self-imposed weekly deadline. I've presumed that various groups are used based on their skills. The Secret Service is trained for personal security (bodyguard duty), the Marines provide a visible deterrent and are trained for diplomatic guard duty, and various other groups, such as the FBI, would probably be handling counter-terrorism and similar duties, which is why the Major bought Daria's cover so easily.

**End of Authors Notes**

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	6. A Small Town in Maryland

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March/April 2001 

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 - A Small Town in Maryland**

It was past dinnertime when Daria turned in at the front walk of her parents' house, slumped with exhaustion, both physical and mental. The walk from the school, where she'd dropped off the motor pool car, seemed longer than usual. It had been only Thursday afternoon she'd left here for school; barely three days, but it seemed like forever. She wasn't the same woman she'd been when she left. Woman, that was it. She'd left, a girl. Since then she'd danced with a handsome enemy agent, been shot at, saved the life of the President of the United States, and now had less than forty-eight hours to deal with whatever act of terrorism the Russians had planned for Tuesday. And, if it really was the destruction of the Capitol, then global chaos could easily follow if they weren't stopped.

That wasn't going to be easy, maybe it wasn't even possible, and if she failed people were going to die. Lots of people. Part of her wanted to crawl into her room, and not come out until it was all over. But it was a small part. She might not have much experience, but she had been trained for work like this, and she was in a position to make an attempt. That made it her responsibility to try, no matter how scared she was by the thought of people dying if she failed.

No, she definitely wasn't the girl she'd been, but she hadn't really changed that much. She'd always believed wrongs needed to be corrected, even if she'd sometimes had to be pushed into action by others. Now she was ready to accept the responsibility for acting herself. She'd already shouldered more responsibility than most adults half again her age, and, so far at least, she thought she had carried it well. It hadn't turned out to be that hard. Now it was merely a matter of continuing to accept that responsibility, and of doing her job. For the first time, she felt that she was an adult, something she had not felt simply from achieving her eighteenth year. 

She faced the door of the house, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Of course, feeling like an adult and convincing her parents that she was one were two different things. Now that she was home, it would be back to being their little girl, no matter her age. They'd never accept the change in her without an explanation that she couldn't give. The discontinuity between the woman she thought she was now, and the girl she'd have to be at home was daunting. But she'd manage, they weren't demanding parents, and it was only until she left for college in a couple of months. Besides, said her training, it was good cover.

She opened the door, juggling her book pack and the shopping bag containing souvenirs of her trip. The bag contained mostly junk, trinkets she'd bought at the hotel gift shop to provide the illusion of a weekend spent playing tourist, but tucked in the bottom was a box containing the dress she'd worn Saturday night. She might never wear it again, but it was the only real souvenir of the trip. That had been a magical night, aside from the bullets, and one she'd remember for the rest of her life.

As she walked in, her mother, Helen, glanced up from the couch, where she was reading a legal brief. "Hi, sweetie, you're home earlier than I expected. How was the city?"

Daria managed a weak smile for her mother, leaning on the stair-rail. A little conversation now would pay benefits later in undisturbed time in her room. "Urban. The museums were nice, though, and the Kennedy Center was impressive."

Her mother seemed surprised, actually taking her eyes off the paper she was reading and looking over at her. "The Kennedy Center?" she said, doubtfully. "What were you doing there? I mean, did you go to a concert or something?"

Her mother's transparent attempt to cover up her surprise threatened to turn Daria's smile into a real grin. She suppressed it ruthlessly, too much humor would make Helen suspicious, and that would be more trouble than it was worth. "Not a concert. We bumped into Jodie, and she invited us to the Presidential reception for the Model Congress. It was a free dinner, so we went."

"Did you see the President?" her mother asked, approval of her daughter being social overlaying the surprise in her voice.

"His speech was cancelled. Some kind of terrorism scare in the city. Anyway, I'm beat. I've been walking for three days. I'm going to crash. See you in the morning?"

Helen looked back down at the papers she was holding. "Maybe. I may leave early to deal with this case. It's getting complex."

"Okay, see you whenever then. 'night."

"Goodnight, sweetie."

Daria climbed slowly up the stairs. Her leg muscles really were sore from all the walking, not to mention the jumping, diving, and general athleticism of the last three days. In the living room, her mother went back to her brief, apparently content that her duty as a concerned parent had been discharged.

When she reached the top of the stairs she could hear her sister, behind her door, talking on the phone to someone about clothing for an upcoming social event. Such a typical situation was reassuring. Armageddon might loom, but the Quinns of the world still only had to worry about color coordination. Now if Quinn could have seen her all dressed up Saturday, that would have been amusing. She walked quietly to her room, and closed the door behind her. Safe at last, her family rarely intruded on her privacy here. Her mother was the worst offender, and she had been neutralized for the evening.

Daria put the dress on a hanger in her closet, and dropped the bag with the other junk on the floor in there. She could sort it out later. She'd left anything suspicious, like her ID card and gun, in the trunk of the car at school. Her book pack she threw on the floor by her desk, so she'd remember it in the morning.

Then she sat on the edge of her bed, unlaced and pulled off her boots, and collapsed bonelessly on the bed. It was really too early to go to sleep, but she was too tired to move, and her thoughts had been chasing themselves in circles for hours. She needed a good night's rest before she could think clearly, but she really ought to call Tom.

The problem was Tom, or rather his father. As long as Angier Sloane was under suspicion, she needed to be circumspect with Tom. That was agency policy. But Tom was her boyfriend, or something like that, and she felt that not telling him about meeting Alex was tantamount to lying to him. But Alex wasn't just a QB from another school. A very handsome QB, she thought, then choked off that line of thinking, he was also a Russian Secret Service agent, and hence one of the things she shouldn't be talking to Tom about. And she'd probably never see Alex again, anyway. There, that was a nice bit of rationalization. But it still felt dishonest, and honesty and trust mattered. So she should tell Tom, but his father was under suspicion, and here we go around the circle again.

She pulled the pillow over her head, but darkness didn't help, it just removed distractions. Annoyed, she threw the pillow at the door and sat up. She had to call Tom. He'd be hurt if she didn't. She couldn't tell him about Alexei the secret agent, but she could mention that she'd danced with Mack's friend Alex the QB. That should be good enough to satisfy her conscience. Now there was only the problem of getting Quinn off the phone somehow. Or maybe not...

Daria levered herself out of bed and went to her book pack. There, in the outer pocket, was the cell phone Ms. Li had given her. She could use it for a personal call, she thought. And if Ms. Li really cared, she'd reimburse the agency for the call. This was important enough that a couple of dollars didn't matter. Heck, she had a regular paycheck now; she kept forgetting that. She dialed Tom's number, and waited while it rang.

"Hello, Sloane residence," Tom's mother said as she picked up the phone.

"Hi, Mrs. Sloane, this is Daria. Is Tom available?"

"Oh, hello Daria. Yes, he's upstairs. Just wait a minute while I call him."

Daria heard her set the phone down, and then heard her voice in the distance telling Tom to pick up his extension.

"Hey Daria, back from the city?" he said when he picked up.

"Yes, just now," Daria stopped, waiting for his mother to hang up the downstairs phone, then resumed: "it was quite the weekend. I even went dancing..."

*

Monday morning. Daria walked into the Principal's office with Jane in tow. Ms. Li looked up, puzzled, as Daria closed the door behind them.

"Good morning, Ms. Morgendorffer, Ms. Lane, what can I do for you today?"

"Angela," Daria said, "remember when you said you trusted my judgment?"

Ms. Li blinked, then nodded.

"Well, I needed some support Saturday night, so I recruited Jane. You could carry out your threat and jail me now, but I'm assuming you meant what you said about trusting me."

Ms. Li looked at the two of them for several seconds, unspeaking, with her lips pursed in a mild frown. Jane squirmed under her gaze, but Daria was immobile. Then Ms. Li sighed.

"I do trust your judgment, Daria, but you really should do things like this through channels. We're supposed to fill out the paperwork and train people before sending them out to save the President, not after."

Her chastising words were ruined when Ms. Li ended with a chuckle, and Jane looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Don't be so surprised, Jane, I don't always follow rules myself. They're important, but results are what matter. Saturday night the two of you, with some rather interesting help, rescued the President. Results like that forgive quite a lot of unorthodox behavior. We'll need you to sign the form that says we can throw you in jail if you tell anyone any secrets you've learned, but after that you can walk away from all this if you want. However, I take it that you want to continue your involvement?"

"Uh, yeah, at least until fall. I have to go to art school then."

"Yes, I know. I do actually pay attention to my students. Daria has college in the fall too. If you do well this summer, we can probably find some part-time work for you while you're in school, and have a full-time job for you when you graduate. Someone with a profession and legitimate credentials makes a much better field agent than someone with a false identity ever could, and an artist is an excellent cover for someone who needs to travel the world apparently at random, and poke their nose into strange places."

Jane seemed disconcerted by this. She opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, paused, and then blurted out: "You'd pay for me to globe-trot with a sketchpad?"

Ms. Li smiled. Reactions like this were her favorite part of recruiting. "Yes, assuming you pass the training, and I think you will. I'd been considering recruiting you after you left for art school anyway. You're intelligent, even if you aren't academically inclined, and as I said, artists make great field agents. Despite this weekend's activities, the work of the typical field agent lies in collecting information and reporting it clearly. It's not like the movies. You don't have to be an expert at obscure skills like baccarat, or even bridge, to do it. This isn't the world of James Bond. You have to be inquisitive, self-reliant, and capable of doing what needs to be done no matter how scared you are, but the actual work is fairly easy. If you have the right temperament it can be loads of fun, mixed with occasional terror."

"Okay," Jane said, "I can see that. I don't have Daria's knack for leadership, but I can think on my feet."

Daria wondered what Jane meant by that, she didn't have a knack for leadership, did she?

"Yes, and that's the most important ability. Besides, your family has an excellent history," Ms. Li continued, oblivious to Daria's thoughts.

Daria and Jane exchanged glances, then Jane said what was on both their minds: "My family?"

"Why yes, didn't you ever wonder how your father could afford to run around the globe with his camera for all these years without ever landing any major contracts or even having a gallery show? Your mother's pottery couldn't even pay for the airfare. And Penny's done some excellent work in Central America."

"Dad? Penny?" Jane was incredulous. "What about Mom?"

"No, the others in your family are civilians."

Daria leaned forward, and asked: "My parents?"

"Are just what they seem, ordinary people. Although I have my eye on your sister. If she goes into the right kind of design profession she could have an excellent cover for travel, and she certainly has the people skills needed. I've been watching her manipulate those other three girls, not to mention anything with a Y chromosome in town, ever since she arrived. She's a natural."

"So," Daria said, "is there anyone in this town who isn't a spy? Other than my parents, of course. I have this odd feeling I've just wandered into an episode of The Prisoner."

Ms. Li laughed, an unsettlingly happy sound from someone who usually possessed such a serious demeanor. "Hardly that, you've met most of our people already. For security reasons I can't tell you who the others are. We always let relatives know who else is on the inside; having family you can talk to provides a safety valve when the pressure gets intense. It's one of the reasons we like to recruit from within the same family as we did with Jane's. Just remember that need-to-know still applies to details, especially sensitive ones. What someone doesn't know, they can't let slip, or be forced to disclose."

"Why did you let me know about Jane's family, then?" Daria asked.

"Because you and Jane are going to be working together, so it's likely you'd find out anyway. And that brings me to our real subject: Angier Sloane. Daria, Glasscutter told me about her conversation with you. Have you told Jane about the Germans?"

"No, It didn't appear relevant, and need-to-know seemed to apply."

"Good, it did, until now. I don't know if it's relevant either, but we need to find out." She turned to Jane. "Jane, two weeks ago someone diverted some items in a shipment of weapons from a U.S. airfield destined for a NATO installation in Germany. The Germans, for reasons of their own, covered the theft up. We believe the missing items, which include a 155 mm tactical nuclear artillery shell, are still in the United States. What we don't know is if they are connected to whatever the Russian terrorists have planned for Tuesday in Washington, but it's certainly a possibility we can't afford to ignore."

The color had drained from Jane's face. 

"You mean these people may have a nuke? Aren't there some fairly complex safeguards to prevent them from being used?"

"Not for artillery shells. The safeguards are on removing them from storage. The shells themselves need to be pretty simple. Unfortunately, the arming codes weren't as well protected as they should have been, and we're fairly sure someone made copies of them before the theft. With them, they have a bomb that will fit in a large suitcase, and will do nearly as much damage as the original Hiroshima bomb. Not a lot by modern standards, but enough to take out both the White House and the Capitol building if it were placed midway between them. We have people with Geiger counters crawling over the likely sites, but if they put it behind enough lead, or somewhere else, those won't help. We need to come at this from another angle: who is really behind this, and what do they want."

"Well," Daria said, "the President mentioned that his captors seemed to want him out of the city, so presumably the bomb is in the city, but why would they want him alive?"

"Exactly," Ms. Li said, "do you have any ideas?"

"Nothing that makes much sense. If the Legislative and Judicial branches were taken out, but not the Executive, there'd be chaos, but what would anyone gain? All I can think of is that someone who had influence over the President might hope to gain some kind of benefit in the absence of the two checks on his power, especially if using the Russians to set the bomb kicked off World War III. Angier Sloane's in finance, so I suppose he could benefit from a war economy, or simply being able to direct Federal procurement contracts to companies he owns, but that seems like a weak motive for genocide."

"Your analysis parallels mine. There are no good motives for genocide, but that never seems to stop people from committing it. Whoever is behind this, they have no hesitation when it comes to killing. We're looking at up to half a million casualties in the District between initial deaths and later ones due to blast or radiation injuries. Not to mention the number that would die worldwide if this caused us to launch a first strike against the Russians. The question is: does Angier Sloane know where the bomb is, or is he just an unwitting pawn who was used to set up the kidnapping. Heck, he might even be innocent. They could have just taken advantage of the location. Never forget that not everyone is guilty, and suspicion is not the same as proof. If you forget that, you'll soon have a police state, and I won't permit this agency to be a party to that. Nonetheless, he's our only lead, so we have to treat him as a suspect, and we don't have time to observe all of the niceties. I won't sanction stormtrooper tactics such as kidnapping him for interrogation without proof, but I'm not waiting for a search warrant if we have to move quickly."

"So, how do we find out how much he's involved?" asked Jane.

"I sent Glasscutter in to check his office last night. There were no incriminating papers in his desk or safe. But that's not too surprising. She also bugged his office thoroughly, but I'm not expecting to get anything out of that. Now we need to do the same to his house, but his security system there is too sophisticated for Glasscutter to take without more preparation time than we have. So, you'll need to do it, Daria."

Daria sat bolt upright in shock. She thought she knew where this was leading, and she didn't like it at all. "Me? If Glasscutter can't do it, how can I?"

"You don't need to break in," said Jane, in a quiet voice. She knew why Daria reacted so strongly to the suggestion.

"Precisely," said Ms. Li, missing Jane's tone. "You will go visit Tom tonight. His parents and sister will be at their club for dinner, there's an awards ceremony and she's one of the recipients. Several important businessmen from DC are coming down for it, and staying the night in local hotels. That's another reason we're suspicious of Angier: he's invited lots of his business friends who can't possibly care about his daughter's award. This seems like a ploy to get people away from the city before the blast."

This was as bad as Daria had thought. "So, how do I keep Tom from noticing me rifling his fathers desk?" she asked, tonelessly.

"We have some knockout drops. Just put one in something he drinks, and he'll sleep like a baby for hours. You can do your work, and leave, and he'll just think he fell asleep on you."

No, it wasn't as bad as she'd thought, it was worse. "I can't do that!" Daria yelled, slamming her fist on the desk.

Ms. Li was taken aback. "Why not? I'm not asking you to hurt him, just to make him take a nap."

"He trusts me. You're asking me to betray that trust." Daria spat the words out, anger and the sick feeling that Ms. Li was right, choking her voice.

"Yes, I am. But he'll never know, and the lives of hundreds of thousands of people depend on this, maybe more."

"It doesn't matter if he knows, I'll know. I'll never be able to look him in the eye again." Daria was nearly crying, and Jane reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"There's an alternative," she said. Both Daria and Ms. Li turned to look at her. Jane continued: "Daria needs to keep Tom busy. This Glasscutter person can go in and do her work. The Sloanes never set their home alarm before Mr. Sloane goes to bed at night, unless they're all out of the house."

"How do you know that?" Daria asked. "Tom never told me that."

"I'm not surprised, he'd never be able to explain how he knew. We found out the hard way one evening when I'd been in Tom's room fairly late, and he tried to sneak me out without his parents knowing. The alarms went off the minute we opened the porch door. Tom was as surprised as me. He didn't know his father set the alarm at night; he'd never tried sneaking out before. That boy lacks initiative."

"And what were you doing in Tom's room so late, huh?" Daria asked, with a smirk, glad for the change of subject, however brief.

"I take the fifth."

Ms. Li hurriedly returned to the issue at hand: "Okay, so Daria diverts him, and Glasscutter goes in. That works. Jane, there's nothing for you to do, but you can stand by in the support van in case something comes up. Daria, I've brought Fingers up from the city to run communications for this operation. We also have a couple of FBI agents on call, in case we need to make an arrest, and they've let the local police know, unofficially, that a most-wanted suspect may be in the county, so we can mobilize them in a hurry if we need firepower. Unfortunately, that's all the team I have to give you, we're stretched rather thin right now."

Daria sighed, resigned. Angela was right, this was no time for scruples. It was still a betrayal, but not as bad as drugging his drink would have been, and it was necessary. "I understand. I'll call Tom after school and suggest we rent a movie. That should be sufficient diversion. Anything else?"

"No," Ms. Li said, "I think that covers everything. Why don't you give Jane a tour of the basement, while I get her paperwork together?"

"Okay."

"Basement? I've seen the basement here. It's nothing special."

"Heh. Won't you be surprised," said Daria.

*

Daria sat on the couch in Tom's house. In the distance she could hear the rest of the Sloane family departing for their evening at the Country Club. They'd invited her and Tom to join them after the movie; apparently this was going to be an extended bash. She'd been non-committal, but from the look on Kay's face, Tom's mother knew it was a polite way of saying 'no'. Daria liked Tom's mother, but her relentless social drive was hard to take. 

In the distance, the door closed, and she could hear Tom's footsteps in the hall. Daria settled back on the couch. She needed to relax. This was just another movie night with Tom. She'd done this dozens of times before. Tom could be fairly perceptive, and if she were on the verge of jumping out of her skin at every little creak of the house, he'd know something was wrong. The fact that she was using him to get at his father continued to eat at her. She'd resolved her conflict about lying to him regarding Alex, but this was just another lie, and a worse one at that.

Tom entered from the hallway. "There, I've sent them packing. They won't be underfoot until the Mercedes turns into a pumpkin at midnight." He dropped onto the couch, near Daria but not touching. He looked nervous. "Um, I had a little problem at the video store. They were all out of the three movies you suggested, and I couldn't find anything similar, so I settled for something rather different. I hope it's okay."

Daria wondered what he'd found. He obviously thought she was going to hate it, and she'd have to pretend to like it in order to avoid messing up the plan for the evening. The things she had to do for God and Country. "Well, out with it. I'm not going to know if it's okay until you tell me what you picked up."

"Yeah, um, here," he said, handing her a tape from a nearby shelf. The yellow cover bore a picture of a cow wearing boots.

"Top Secret," she read. She looked up at him, fighting to restrain an unlikely fit of giggles. Watching a tongue-in-cheek spy movie while a real spy searched the house. The irony threatened to overwhelm her self-control.

Tom mistook it for anger, and pulled away. "You hate it, don't you? I knew it was a bad choice, but Jane said once that you liked spy movies, and I thought I'd try something different."

Daria took pity on him, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "No, you idiot, I like it. I've seen it before, but it's still a good choice. Too bad Jane isn't here, she has a weakness for Chocolat Mousse."

A tinny voice crackled in her ear, from the bone-conduction speaker implanted in the frame of her glasses. It was Jane: "I'll get you for that, Cynic. By the way, Glasscutter is ready to make her move. Get the movie started so she can open the door without being heard."

Daria handed the tape back to Tom, in a much lighter mood than she'd been in earlier. "Okay, roll it."

Tom walked over to the VCR and stuck the tape in. As the scream of a locomotive whistle boomed from the speakers, Daria leaned back on the couch. The Sloanes spared no expense on their home theater; it sounded as loud as a real one. Glasscutter should have no trouble doing her job.

Tom sat down on the couch, and Daria leaned against him, snuggling into his shoulder as he put his arm around her. This was going to be easier than she'd thought.

*

The movie was nearly done when Daria heard another voice in her ear. It was Ms. Li, apparently patched through by Fingers.

"Cynic, this is the Colonel. We found some interesting notes in his appointments calendar and checkbook. Apparently he'll be meeting with the person who supplied the money for the reception at tonight's party, around eleven. You'll need to infiltrate and observe. Artist said that you had an invitation, take it. Out."

Daria stiffened. Tom must have thought she was uncomfortable from sitting motionless for so long, and lifted his arm off her shoulder. She stretched, to cover her nervousness, and then watched the last few minutes of the film in silence.

As the credits started to roll, she turned to Tom. "Well, what did you think?" she asked.

He seemed bemused. "It wasn't, uh, quite what I expected."

She smiled. That was nearly word-for-word what she'd said when Jane had first sprung the movie on her. Now for the hard part. "Tom, I've been thinking...about what your mother said."

Tom seemed confused at the change of subject. "What she said? When? Oh, you mean tonight's ceremony, don't worry about it. Inviting people to these things is just reflex with her, she knows it's not the sort of thing you'd accept."

"No, I was thinking that I really ought to see your family on their own turf, and I do have that dress I picked up for Saturday's reception. Would it bother you if we went?" Her question ended on a sour note, caused by her conscience screaming 'Liar!' in the back of her head. But Tom was too surprised to think anything of it.

After recovering from his surprise, Tom smiled. "No, not at all. I'd love to show them that you can function in their world, when you want to. I'll run upstairs and change, and then I can drive you to your house. That is, if you're really sure you want to do this?" He waited.

She nodded. "I'm sure. After Saturday, I think I can cope with a Country Club awards ceremony."

He kissed her, rather more seriously than earlier, and ran upstairs. She'd obviously made him happy. Obscurely, that bothered her. Why couldn't he be as happy when it was just the two of them? Well, showing his mother that she could be social if she needed to wasn't a bad idea, and if it made Tom happy, that would at least balance the way she was using him, a little.

She spoke for the ears of her team: "Okay, folks. Pack it up and get ready to move. My house for a quick change, then on to the Country Club. Have Grasscutter put my ID and gun inside my room before I get there, I might need them later, and have the FBI stand by outside the club, in case we need backup."

**THE END (of Chapter 6)**

**Next week:** Chapter 7, The Honourable Schoolgirl: In which Daria discovers a shocking secret about someone she thought she knew, and the evil confronting her becomes personal. 

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Funny thing, several people interpreted the end of chapter 5 as indicating that Tom was the villain, just because his father was a suspect. You might be thinking the same thing about the chapter 7 teaser. You should know better than to assume I'd be that obvious...if Tom's involved, I promise it won't be merely "Evil Tom was behind it all".

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	7. The Honourable Schoolgirl

True Cynicism

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: April 2001 

**CHAPTER 7 - The Honourable Schoolgirl**

Daria entered her house, followed by Tom. Surprisingly, her parents were both home, and seated on the couch, wearing guilty looks. Daria wondered what she'd just interrupted. She dashed up the stairs before her mother could speak, yelling over her shoulder to Tom: "Amuse my parents, I'll be down as soon as I change."

Below, she could hear her mother begin to question him, asking about his tuxedo and what she had meant about changing. Daria grinned; her mother was about to have the surprise of her life. Helen didn't even know Daria owned a dress.

In her room, she quickly removed her jacket and boots, and flung her clothes on the bed. Then she went to the closet and pulled out the long, green, silk dress she'd worn Saturday night. Good, it had apparently come through the night's events without serious wrinkles or stains. She donned it, and grabbed her purse off the closet shelf, feeling the weight of her gun inside, and transferred the cell phone and radio from her jacket to the purse, checking to make sure her false ID was in there as well, in the process discovering that Glasscutter had included a few other items she might need later. Finally, she slipped on the dress shoes and fake pearls (with concealed microphone) that went with the dress.

She reached into the purse and switched the radio there to voice-activation; she'd need her hands free tonight. "Radio test. Cynic to Fingers, do you copy?" she asked.

"Reading you loud and clear Cynic. We're en route to the club."

"Okay, we should be out of here shortly. Speak up if there's anything I need to know. Out."

"Roger, out."

Exiting her room, she walked into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror. Reasonably straight, but she ran a brush through it briefly to make sure. The she grinned at her reflection. Looking good, Morgendorffer, pity Quinn isn't home to see this. Oh, well, maybe later. Time to go confuse the parents.

She ran downstairs, and grabbed Tom, still standing just inside the door, by the arm. "C'mon, we're going to be late!" she said, cutting Tom's conversation with her mother off in mid-word.

Looking over at her mother, she saw her expression change from surprise to confusion, as her mother took in her appearance. Daria shoved Tom towards the door, hoping to escape before her mother regained the power of speech. No such luck.

"Daria, what... where did you get that dress?" Helen asked.

Her father had turned to look. She could see an approving smile on his face. He sometimes seemed to be out of touch with his family, but he always assumed that she knew what she was doing. It was a degree of trust her mother seemed incapable of, and one of the reasons she loved him dearly.

"This is what I bought for the reception last weekend. Sorry, got to run, the Sloanes are expecting us," she lied. The Sloanes had invited her, true, but had no reason to believe she'd actually put in an appearance this time, after all of the other times she had not.

Daria followed Tom out the door, and as it closed she could just catch her mothers plaintive words to her father. "Jake, she's wearing a gown. What's going on? Do you think they're eloping? Don't just sit there grinning, do something!"

*

Tom pulled his battered car into the country club parking lot. It looked particularly shabby contrasted with all the late-model luxury cars present, not to mention the fleet of immaculate limousines parked in the satellite lot they'd passed on the way in. Daria hadn't realized that there was this much of an upper class in Lawndale, or perhaps they'd been imported from surrounding towns for the occasion.

Turning off the ignition, he faced her with an anxious look. "Daria, are you really sure you want to go through with this? I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you to fit in with my parents. I don't fit in all that well myself."

"Relax, Tom," she said, with a faint smile to reassure him. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to. Give me some credit for willpower, huh? So, what's happening this evening?"

He relaxed. After a brief pause for consideration, he replied: "Well, there was a formal dinner that we should have missed by now. There's cocktails and dancing, until around 10 or 10:30 when they'll have the dinning room reconfigured for the presentations, and the whole thing should wrap by 11:30. We can sneak out before the presentation ceremony if you like, lots of people do."

"What, exactly, is this ceremony, and how is your sister involved?"

"Well, it's a sort of junior achievers thing. There are students from all over the county being recognized for 'contributions to society'. Elsie was nominated for her volunteer work as a candy-striper."

"I didn't know she worked at a hospital," Daria said. "That's great."

Tom scowled. "It's a big thing in my parent's circle; she gets a scholarship she doesn't need for helping the hospital cut its budget by not hiring more nurses."

"Still, she did the work. I hadn't thought your sister had that kind of depth, or did your parents make her do it?"

"No, it was her idea, I'll give her credit for that. Anyway, shall we go in?"

"I suppose." Daria opened her door. "Cocktails and dancing. I can do this."

"I hope so," said Tom. "Now that I know you can dance, I'm looking forward to getting you out on the floor. I'm not up to the tango like your friend Alex, but I can manage a fairly mean waltz."

Ah, this is making more sense, Daria thought as she climbed out of the car. Tom's jealous. How sweet.

*

Inside, they entered a large ballroom off the lobby. At the far end, a few people were dancing to relatively sedate music, but the majority seemed to be wandering around or talking in small clusters. People of her parent's generation, or older, were in the majority, with a scattering of others of her age. There didn't seem to be many in between.

Tom spotted his parents off to one side, and headed for them, pausing a few times to introduce Daria to people he knew. She smiled politely, and tried to remember names and faces, but knew she'd have forgotten most of them later in the evening. Along the way she reached into her purse and extracted one of Brittany's presents: a microphone/tracker bug similar to the one they'd planted on the President. Bugging Angier Sloane was her first objective for the evening.

As they walked up to his parents, Kay caught sight of them and smiled broadly, tugging her husband away from the elderly gentleman he'd been talking to. Angier turned, with a grin for them. Daria felt suddenly guilty. Here she was, a trusted guest, about to betray that trust in the abstract name of National Security. Even knowing the serious and immediate threat, it still felt wrong; a means not justified by the end. She drew a deep breath. Wrong or not, lives were on the line, and she wasn't going to get cold feet now. She carefully schooled her features into the usual expressionless mask she used in public, and followed Tom up to his parents.

"Daria!" Kay said. "We're so glad you could make it, and you look absolutely lovely in that dress."

"Thanks, Mrs. Sloane."

"Well, son, how did you convince Daria to join us?" asked Angier.

"I didn't 'convince' her to do anything. She suggested it after the movie was over," Tom replied, with a hint of reproach in his voice.

"Well, whatever the cause, we're glad you've come, Daria." Angier stepped up on her left, slapping her briefly on the shoulder. Daria used the opportunity to stumble against him, slipping the bug into the pocket of his jacket. "Ho, careful there. People don't start falling down drunk until later," he boomed. Daria thought he might have had a few drinks already, himself.

"Dear, you'll scare Daria off," Kay said, turning to Daria. "Really, he exaggerates, everyone's very well behaved. I'm sure you'll have fun. Elsie's around somewhere, she can introduce you to people your own age."

"Mother, I know these people too," Tom objected. "I don't need Elsie's assistance. Come on, Daria, let's go get something to drink and we can circulate." Tom grabbed her wrist, and towed her away from his parents.

Daria followed, until they were out of earshot, then planted her feel and dragged him to a stop. "If I needed a tow, I'd have called triple-A. What was all that about?" she asked, in a mildly annoyed tone.

Tom looked abashed. "Sorry. I just can't deal with my parents. They're not giving you credit for coming, and Dad's drunk. I can't believe it. These things are usually disasters, but I've never seen him drunk before."

"Well, he did seem more jovial than usual, but that's hardly disorderly conduct, and your mother seemed very polite to me. Are you sure you aren't overreacting?"

"Well, maybe. These ceremonies get under my skin. Everybody's here to be seen being here, and not because they think the ceremony matters. I'm sorry I dragged you off like that, but I really had to get away from them. Do you mind?"

"No, not really, but aren't we here to be seen being here too? Even if your parents aren't doing this for your sister, you can hardly blame them for doing the same thing we are."

An argumentative expression crossed Tom's face, but it receded before he spoke. "No, I can't, and they really are proud of her. Maybe I'm just feeling guilty because this time I'm playing the game, and they're being honest."

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who's always second-guessing herself? Lighten up; it's just a social function. Let's get those drinks. I could use some caffeine and sugar right now, and then we can go meet some of your friends," she said.

"If I can find any. Most of them have enough sense to duck this thing too. Why did I ever drag you here?" he lamented.

"You didn't. And don't forget that I owe you a dance. Come on." She headed for the bar, and Tom followed.

*

A couple of hours later they were finishing their third dance. They had proved to themselves in the first one that neither of them knew enough about dancing to avoid mishaps, and Daria's toes were sore from being stepped on. She supposed Tom's were the same. But they'd carried on, undaunted, and hadn't done too badly. As the piece concluded, they headed for the bar. It was definitely time for more sugar, and the presentation ceremony should be starting soon. She still needed to decide how she could give Tom the slip at 11, but she'd probably just use the 'powder my nose' excuse.

Approaching the bar, she came face to face with her sister, just turning away from it with a drink in her hand. Daria stopped, while Tom continued on to the bar.

Quinn looked past her at first, and it seemed as if she were going to walk away, before she finally saw who was in front of her, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Daria? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, I could ask you the same thing. This isn't exactly your kind of social function."

Quinn sniffed. "Well, that shows how much you know. The fashionable never miss an opportunity to look good in public." 

There was something about Quinn's response that made Daria think she was hiding something. "So, does that mean the rest of your club is here too? And your usual escorts?"

"Uh, no. Jason brought me. His family are club members. Do Mom and Dad know you're here?"

Quinn was definitely being evasive, and she hadn't even commented on Daria's dress. Something else held her attention. Time for the direct approach. "Not in so many words. We're here to see Tom's sister get an award, why are you here?"

Quinn looked stricken, glancing around as if for an exit. "Um, look, Daria, can you promise to keep a secret?" she finally asked.

Daria shrugged, noncommittal.

Quinn sighed. "I didn't tell Mom and Dad, or my friends, I'd be here; they think I'm at Chez Pierre tonight. I'm here because I'm getting an award, and I didn't want them making a big deal out of it."

Daria looked at Quinn, not sure how to take this. "You? An award? What for?"

Quinn looked down at her feet. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Really, Quinn," Daria said, exasperated, "I'm going to find out when they present it, you may as well tell me now."

Quinn gave in to the inevitable. "Remember when the Fashion Club collected clothes for the homeless?"

"Yeah, I recall you refused any unfashionable clothing, and ended up with very little to show for your effort."

"That was Sandi, she thought collecting unfashionable stuff would hurt our image somehow. Well, I was talking to Theresa at Junior Five afterwards, and it turned out that stuff they couldn't sell was just being sent back to a warehouse at the end of the season. I convinced the store manager to donate it to the clothing drive for a tax write-off, and they even managed to get some stuff from the warehouse that had been just sitting there. We've done it every year since, and this year several other stores joined in. I didn't really do that much, just helped coordinate things, but the store manager nominated me for this award thingy. Please, promise me you won't tell Mom and Dad?"

"Heh. The blackmail possibilities are endless, but no, your secret's safe with me." Quinn visibly relaxed. "Actually, I'm rather proud of you, but I'll deny I ever said that. So, are you getting a scholarship too, and how were you planning to explain that away?"

"Um, well, I was going to tell them if was for something the Fashion Club did. They never check if you give them a simple and believable story."

Daria chuckled inwardly. Ms. Li had been right; Quinn was a natural agent.

"Daria, that's a nice dress," Quinn said, clearly over her preoccupation now, "but those pearls are so obviously fakes. You should have borrowed Mom's, they'd look much better."

"Getting out of the house was difficult enough, without staying to negotiate jewelry." Not to mention that without the fake pearls she'd have no place to keep her microphone.

"I've got to get back to Jason. See you later, huh?" Quinn said, almost shyly.

"Yep, I'll catch you after the presentation, unless I get dragged away by the Sloanes."

*

In the van, Jane turned to Fingers. "Huh. There's more to that kid than I thought. Have you picked up anything interesting from Sloane's bug?"

"No, but he's been getting pretty drunk, and he and his wife just had a hell of an argument in the cloakroom. It sounds to me like he's under considerable stress. If he knew anything, we could crack him easily, but I'm beginning to think he's just a pawn. No pro would get drunk at a meeting the day before a major operation was going down."

"Unless he's not really drunk, and it's an act in case anyone's watching him," Jane suggested.

Fingers looked up at her, skepticism plain on his face. "Jesus, Jane, you've got a twisty mind."

Jane smiled, and leaned back against the instrument panel, with her arms folded across her chest. "Flatterer. I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

Fingers chuckled, turning back to his communications equipment. "Nope, just the cute ones." A smile touched Jane's face. "God, this is dull. He's talking to that damn banker again. I swear they've had this same conversation three times already. If I hear about fluctuations in the prime rate one more time, I'm going to go in there and kill him myself! Go meet your damn contact already, moron!"

"Temper, temper. We've got another forty minutes to kill until the meeting. I thought your were a veteran of stakeouts, isn't boredom something you're used to yet?"

"Yeah, but it always gets to me like this. I need to be doing something. Usually I play video games while I wait, but I'm too keyed up. If we blow this, there's a whole city on the line."

"You need a distraction," Jane said, standing up. "Allow me to suggest one." She walked over, sat on his lap, and kissed him. "How's that for distracting?"

Fingers smiled at her. "I don't know, I'm still pissed at that banker. Maybe if you tried again?"

Jane chuckled, and did as she was asked.

*

Daria sat in the back of the room being used for presentations. Tom was next to her, and his parents a few rows ahead and to the right. There was a stage at the far end of the room, with the curtain lowered behind a speaker's podium. Elsie and Quinn were backstage with the other recipients, waiting to accept their awards. But first, several people apparently had to make long-winded speeches. She fidgeted, keeping her eye on Angier. He should be making his move soon, and she was going to have to get clear first, so it wouldn't be obvious that she was following him.

"Tom, I've got to go to the ladies', I'll be back in a bit."

"That's right, abandon me to a fate worse than death: after-dinner speeches," he said, with a grin to show he was kidding.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I really do have to go."

She stood up, and walked slowly towards the back of the room. In the shadows by the door, she turned. Tom was facing the stage, and Angier was talking to his wife. Daria slipped into an unoccupied alcove, apparently a cloakroom, where she could watch without being observed.

"Cynic to Fingers, I think he's about to move. What can you hear?"

Silence. What the hell?

"Speak to me, Fingers, what's going on?"

Fingers responded this time, a little breathlessly. "Sorry chief, my headset came unplugged." She could hear Jane laughing in the background. What were those two doing?

"So, what did he just say to his wife?" she asked, impatiently.

"Uh, yeah, something about going to the men's room. His wife's a real pistol, she told him if he wasn't back for his daughter's award, he was walking home."

"Great, stay alert. Cynic out."

"Roger, out."

She watched as Angier made his way unsteadily towards her location. She slipped back into the shadows as he walked past. After he'd left, she waited until the door had almost closed before stepping out and stopping it with her hand. She scanned the room, but nobody was looking in her direction. She glanced out the door, and waited until he'd turned the corner at the end of the hall, then she moved to follow him, easing the door shut behind her.

"I'm mobile folks, where's he headed?"

"He's in the service corridor, moving in the direction of the stage."

Daria jogged to the corner, and looked into the empty hallway beyond it. She could see the entrance to the service corridor up ahead. She moved up to it quietly.

"Okay, he's turned out of the corridor, into a room the floor plan calls a bar, but it's a small room, maybe ten by twenty. He's talking to someone, I'll patch it through."

Daria moved down the service hallway. As she did, Angier's voice, and that of someone else, came from her earpiece.

"...did it go?" Angier said.

"Badly, very badly. His security forces were better than we were led to believe," the other voice said.

"But... I did my part, right? We're done now. Why did you want to meet?"

"We're not done you fool! If we can't control him, we'll have to remove him. And we need your help to bring him out of his hole. After tomorrow night, he'll know how serious we are, but he's going to have to meet with his financial people sometime, and when he does, you'll let us know when and where."

"Now wait just a minute, we had a deal!"

"Yes, and I'm renegotiating it. Or do you want your family on welfare? If I tell the SEC about your little price-fixing arrangement, you'll be chapter 11 and in jail by this time next month, and your family will be homeless. Do you want that?" He paused. "I didn't think so."

They continued talking about details for communications. She tuned it out, Fingers was recording the conversation, and they weren't saying anything she needed to hear just now.

"Fingers," Daria said, softly, "we need to bag this other guy. Are the FBI agents ready to move in?"

"They were supposed to be, but I haven't heard from them. I'll double check with the Colonel."

"Right, any other exits to this room?"

"Yeah, two. One to the main hall, and one to the backstage area."

"Lovely. Get Glasscutter to cover the hall. Have Artist watch the exit on the far side of the stage. I'll sit here until the feds arrive, unless he goes to leave."

"Roger that."

Daria waited, listening with half an ear to the conversation, while she watched the hallway. Eventually, Fingers called back.

"Cynic, everyone's in place. The feds were in the parking lot all along, but on the wrong frequency. They're briefed, and moving in. One is going to take the main entrance, and the other will take the service hallway. Can you move to the stage door, and block it from the inside?"

"Roger. Is there an entrance from the service hall to the backstage area?"

"Yes, double doors about twenty feet beyond your location."

"I see them. I'll call you when I'm in position."

Daria moved to the stage doors, and slipped inside. She was in a storage area, filled with what looked like scenery flats from a play, and not a recent one to judge from the quantity of dust on everything. Probably left over from last summer. She knew roughly where the door was, but couldn't see a direct route to it. She began to move around the flats, working her way back. Ahead, she could hear voices from the award recipients milling about backstage.

Back in the bar, judging from the conversation, they were nearly done. She hoped the FBI was in position. She came around a corner, and saw the door. Unfortunately, between her and it was a crowd of about fifteen high-school students. She drifted towards the door, trying to look like she belonged in the group.

Suddenly, from her earphone, she heard a shout of "FBI, freeze!" and then several shots rang out. The shots could be heard through the wall, and the crowd in front of her began to mill about. She tried to move faster, but nervous students kept getting in her way.

The door ahead of her burst open, and a youngish man wearing a waiter's uniform ran in, waving a gun. He slammed the door behind him, and threw a deadbolt.

"Fingers, target is backstage, and he's locked the feds out. Have them move around to join Artist. I'll follow target until we're away from all these people."

She opened her purse, and slipped her hand in, but didn't draw her gun. There was no chance of a clean shot in this crowd, and they needed him alive anyway.

The terrorist charged across the room, headed for the fire door on the far side, scattering screaming students as he ran. Daria followed in the path he'd cleared. As he approached the far door, he grabbed one of the students in a chokehold, and pulled her against him as a shield. Positioning her between him and the door, he moved up to it.

"Fingers, have the feds pull back, he's got a hostage."

"Roger, can you take him?"

"Negative, we need him alive, and any disabling shot I took would be likely to hit the hostage. I'd rather get him away from the other potential hostages, and try to negotiate. If we can contain him on the grounds, maybe he'll talk to us."

"Got it. We have police responding. I can direct them to cordon the perimeter of the golf course, and a state police helicopter will be overhead shortly. He's not going anywhere."

The terrorist had been listening at the door. Apparently satisfied that there was no one immediately outside, he turned to hit the door release with his hip, placing his gun against the hostage's head. As he turned, the face of the hostage came into view. Daria froze, as she looked into Quinn's terrified eyes.

**THE END (of Chapter 7)**

**Next week:** Chapter 8, Pale Pink for Peril: In which Daria has to weigh her sister's life against that of a city.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	8. Pale Pink for Peril

Pale Pink for Peril

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: April 2001 

**CHAPTER 8 - Pale Pink for Peril**

The terrorist pushed the stage door open a sliver with his hip, yelling out: "Get away from the door. I have a hostage, and if anyone tries to stop me, I'll kill her!"

Daria stood, rooted to the floor, about ten feet behind him, as he held Quinn to one side. The terrorist had his left arm around Quinn's neck, and held his gun to her head with his other hand. Daria's hand rested on the pistol in her purse.

While Daria stood there, Quinn silently mouthed the word "help". Daria nodded, and mouthed, "wait" back. Daria watched Quinn nod back, impressed by her composure. She was obviously terrified, but she wasn't a screaming wreck. It couldn't be because she expected Daria to do anything useful, Quinn didn't know about Daria's recent training. In any case, all that training was useless in the present situation. There were ways to stop a terrorist with his gun to the head of a hostage, but they were fatal to the terrorist, and not without risk for the hostage. Daria needed the terrorist alive, and didn't intend to take any chances with Quinn's life.

Daria thought about her sister. If it came down to it, she'd kill the terrorist before she let him hurt Quinn. Even if it meant Washington might go up in a fireball tomorrow night. There were other options for finding the bomb, and she only had one sister. Funny, she hadn't realized Quinn was that important to her before.

Daria took her hand off the gun, and pulled one of the tracking bugs out of her purse instead. She mimed grabbing it in her fist, and then threw it to Quinn, who caught it in her left hand, looking down at it in puzzlement. The terrorist, still looking out the opened door, was oblivious.

He stepped out of the doorway, dragging Quinn. As it closed behind him, Daria spoke softly: "Fingers, patch me through to the team." She waited for his acknowledgement before continuing. "Okay team, he's holding my sister hostage, so we're not taking any chances. She's holding one of the bugs. Fingers, you keep track of her. Glasscutter, return to the van in case we need to get mobile. I'll join Artist in the hall once he leaves the building and we'll follow on foot. Fingers, what was the shooting earlier?"

"He went to leave and took a couple of shots at the FBI agents. Nobody was hurt. They took Sloane into custody, but haven't charged him yet."

"Okay, we can hold him for seventy-two hours without formal charges. Have someone from HQ take him off their hands. We'll need to wring anything he knows out of him before tomorrow night, just in case they let something slip in his presence."

"Isn't this your boyfriend's father we're talking about?" Fingers asked.

"Yeah. Life sucks. He's also guilty of at least securities fraud, and possibly treason and accessory to half-a-million counts of attempted murder. Ask me if I care about his delicate sensibilities."

"Point taken. Okay, the target is outside and Artist reports the hallway is clear."

Leaving the still panicking students behind, Daria stepped through the door, finding only Jane in the hallway, and closed it behind her. Jane was wearing black fatigues and a set of night-vision goggles that covered most of her face. Not exactly low-key, but probably no more conspicuous than her usual jacket and shorts would be compared to the tuxedos and evening gowns the guests were wearing. The outfit did have the benefit of rendering her anonymous. She held out a duffel containing another set to Daria.

"He went out the back," Jane said, gesturing at a fire exit. "She'll be okay, Daria. She's only useful as a hostage alive."

"Yeah, until he doesn't need one anymore, or feels too cornered to be rational," Daria replied, as she quickly stripped off her dress and donned the fatigues and boots.

"Well, we won't let it come to that."

Daria nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stuffed her gown and shoes into the duffel and placed it behind a potted shrub, where they should remain hidden until she could retrieve them later. The two walked down to the fire exit and out onto a porch overlooking the golf course behind the club. Stairs in the center of the porch led down to the green. The lights along the porch had been shattered; Daria could still see the rocks lying below them in the broken glass. She nodded approval at Jane.

Below, the terrorist was making for the side of the building nearest the parking lot. He stopped, as sirens sounded in the distance, and turned back, ducking under the porch. Shortly afterward, a golf cart shot out onto the green and headed down a paved path. Quinn appeared to have been tied to one of the cart's seats with the terrorist's belt.

As soon as they were out of sight, Daria and Jane rushed down the stairs and grabbed a second cart.

"Jane, you drive. I may need my hands free," Daria said.

Fingers' voice crackled in her ear. "Cynic, you aren't forgetting we need him intact?"

"We need him breathing. Intact is optional. Relax, I'm still planning to negotiate. Have Glasscutter swing the van around to the far side of the course in case we need backup."

"Roger, we're on our way," he replied.

Jane threw the cart into motion, and they lurched off after him.

"Whee!" Jane cried. "Follow that cart!"

Daria smiled. Trust Jane to find some humor in the situation. "If you catch him before the eighteenth hole, I'll double the fare," she replied.

"That's no fair, I'm not getting paid for this." When Daria didn't respond, Jane looked over at her. "No fare, get it?"

"Yeah, just drive. My sense of humor isn't up to par for some reason."

Jane looked at the golf course surrounding them, and groaned.

The cart, its electric motor humming, rocketed down the path at a fast walk.

*

They came out of the woods, and could see the other cart several hundred feet ahead of them, heading down the slope towards a bridge over a small stream. Jane swerved onto another path, which veered off to the left.

"Hey, what are you doing? They went down there!" Daria yelled, pointing to the right.

"Relax, this is a short cut. Once he crosses the brook, he'll need to wind up the other hill between those sand traps. We'll duck over the ridge, and circle around the woods at the top of the hill. It's faster."

Daria looked at Jane, perplexed. "Fingers has a map of the golf course?"

Jane shrugged, embarrassed. "Nah. I played golf with Tom and his family once. We took the shortcut racing them back to the clubhouse."

"You. Played. Golf?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to burn in hell, all right? Don't make it any worse."

"Ah, the things we do for love. Of course, I never went that far," Daria said with a smirk.

"So, what are we going to do when we get ahead of them?" Jane asked, ignoring the comment.

"Ambush. You block the path with the cart and distract him. I'll hide and come out behind him with my gun. As long as he isn't holding a gun to Quinn's head, I can disable him if I have to, and if he's smart, he'll realize he has no option but to talk to us."

"Yeah, but he could still take a shot at me before he realizes it," Jane protested. Her tone carried a mixed message: she was joking, but with a core of seriousness.

"I know." Daria turned to Jane, all humor banished from her voice. "If you want, I can be the distraction."

"But you at least know how to shoot one of these things. I just had Ms. Li's safety briefing this morning. I couldn't hit the ground reliably."

"With only two months of practice, I'm not really much better. But I'd rather it was my finger on the trigger if something goes wrong. Anyway, at night, at a distance, he's not really likely to hit you, if you keep down behind the cart, and duck if it looks like he's going to shoot."

"Yeah, like I believe that. But I'd rather it was your finger on the trigger, too. The only thing worse than shooting him, would be shooting Quinn by mistake."

"Yeah. I know."

Fingers' voice broke the silence. "Cynic, I may be able to help here. If you wait until he's past the woods on the top of the ridge, I should have line-of-sight from the road. That's only about six hundred yards, and it's a moonlit windless night. I have a snipers rifle with night sights, and can take him from there if it's necessary. It's probably less risky than you two waving pistols around and making targets of yourselves."

"Isn't that fairly long range? asked Daria.

"Not really, I've done longer shots."

"You're a man of unexpected talents," Daria said, and thought she heard Jane mutter, "You aren't kidding."

"Yeah, well, it was my military specialization. There's not much call for it in our line of work, but I've kept in practice."

"Okay, set up where you think is good, and let us know where to set the ambush. If you need to shoot, try to disarm him if you can, but the hostage's life comes first. You got that?"

"The Colonel won't like it if we kill him."

"That'll be between the Colonel and me. I'm asking if you're willing to do this my way?"

"You're the boss, Cynic, the Colonel said so herself. Long as I'm on your team, I follow your orders. The hostage comes first."

*

They'd parked their cart at the edge of the woods, blocking the path, with a radio set up on one of the seats. Jane and Daria crouched on opposite sides of the path, behind what cover the small trees offered. Daria was just far enough off the drivers side of the path that he shouldn't be able to see her, and with her night-vision goggles, she could see the area around the cart as clearly as if it were day, albeit with a monochrome green color to everything. Fingers kept up a running commentary about the range of the tracker Quinn was still holding.

As Fingers said, "Here he comes," the cart crested the ridge and started down, braking to a halt about twenty feet in front of Daria.

From the empty cart, the radio yelled: "Hold it right there. We've got the whole course surrounded. Why don't you make this easy and give up?" The voice was Brittany's, but it was electronically distorted to prevent Quinn from recognizing it.

Daria stood slowly and moved towards the path. She walked quietly, holding her gun in front of her with both hands, ready to shoot if the terrorist wouldn't surrender and Fingers missed. The terrorist waved his gun in front of him, trying to decide where the voice was coming from.

Brittany's voice rang out again. "Now drop your weapon, and place your hands atop your head."

This time, the terrorist located the voice, and fired. The broken radio crashed down some distance behind the cart. At the same time, the terrorist was thrown backwards as his shoulder fountained blood.

Daria ran up, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him out of the cart on his face before he could recover, but it didn't matter, he'd dropped his gun when Fingers shot him. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Quinn, who seemed unharmed, although blood had sprayed her face, and she was being quietly sick onto the roadway. Daria sympathized; the smell of blood was turning her own stomach too.

Jane ran up, and shoved her gun in the terrorists face, whispering, "move and I'll finish the job." Daria saw that Jane had forgotten to cock the gun, so it wasn't likely to go off, either by accident or on purpose. Fortunately the terrorist was in no condition to notice such details.

Daria patted him down, finding another gun in an ankle holster. Then she took out her commando knife, and cut his waiter's jacket off. Quickly, she sliced it into strips, and formed a crude pressure bandage for his shoulder. It would keep him alive until they could get him to medical attention. Finally, she bound his wrists and ankles with plastic electrical ties Jane had brought, fast and as effective as handcuffs for her purpose.

She looked up at Jane, whispering: "Take the hostage down to the van in your cart. I'll stay here until the helicopter arrives."

Jane nodded, and holstered her gun. Then she walked over to Quinn, and untied her from the cart, handing her a cloth out of some belt pouch, and leading her over to the other cart as Quinn wiped her face and mouth off.

As she climbed into the other cart, Quinn looked back at the terrorist on the ground, with a smile of satisfaction. Then she looked up at Daria, crouched beside him. "Thanks for rescuing me, Mr...?"

Daria, anonymous behind her goggles, merely smiled back, and nodded her head. Quinn's smile faltered, and she turned away. Jane threw the cart into motion, and Quinn grabbed for the dash, as the cart lurched over the edge of the path and back onto the trail.

When the cart was out of range, she spoke into her microphone. "Fingers, the hostage is on the way. Make sure you don't have any speakers live once she's in the van. You can turn her over to the police to return her home and then meet me at HQ. I'm going to ride with the prisoner."

"Roger that, Cynic. I'll have Artist return with the cart once I have the hostage. That'll keep her clear."

"Good idea. Catch you later, Cynic out."

"Roger, out."

*

Back at the country club, Tom was frantic. Nobody had heard the original gunshots over the after-dinner speaker, but when the award recipients poured out from backstage in a panic, yelling about a gunman, the room had erupted in chaos. He'd fought his way up to his mother, in time for his sister to come running up in tears. Then state police had swarmed into the room, and tried to reassure everyone that the situation was under control. The room was still in chaos when a middle-aged man in a cheap sport coat walked up to his mother, and flashed an FBI badge.

"Mrs. Sloane? I'm agent McGee. Could you and your family come with me? We need to talk to you."

His mother took this calmly, as if such things happened every day. Tom was impressed, despite himself. "Of course, agent McGee," she said, "but my husband isn't with us at the moment."

"I know ma'am, he's safe. If you'll follow me...," he said, turning away.

Tom couldn't contain himself. "Excuse me, agent McGee, but my girlfriend was out in the hall, have you seen her?"

McGee looked over his shoulder. "I don't think so. What's her name, and what does she look like?"

"Daria Morgendorffer. Short, wearing a green dress, with auburn hair, and glasses."

"Nope, haven't seen anyone like that, but we'll check around. She'll be okay, though. Nobody's been hurt."

"She was backstage," Tom's sister, Elsie, blurted out. "When the gunman came through, she was with us."

The FBI agent pulled a radio from his belt, and spoke into it, giving Daria's name and description to someone.

When they finally fought through the crowd into the lobby, which was filled with state police in riot gear, agent McGee turned to Kay. "Ma'am, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your husband's been arrested on suspicion of securities fraud. He was also consorting with the gunman who disrupted your party, but we're still not clear on the details there. We've impounded your car as evidence, but I can arrange to have one of these troopers give you a ride home."

"Thank you, agent McGee, but we'll wait for Daria and Tom can give us all a lift home." She turned to Tom. "If that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, but it could be a while. Maybe you and Elsie should go home now, rather than waiting."

"No," said Elsie, "I'd rather know she was okay."

Agent McGee's radio cracked, and he held it up to his ear to listen. Then he turned back to the group. "Well, your friend is fine. Her sister was taken hostage, but she was recovered a little while ago. The police took the two of them home."

Tom was annoyed that Daria hadn't found some way to tell him, but then he realized she probably hadn't had a chance to think about anything else if she'd been there when Quinn was taken hostage. He'd call her when he got home, and make sure they were both all right.

"I'm glad she's okay," he said to the FBI agent, then he turned to what was left of his family. "Let's go home."

*

Daria and her team sat with Ms. Li in one of the conference rooms off of the operations center under Lawndale High. They'd been reviewing the night's events while they waited for word from the interrogation team that was working on the terrorist. The phone rang, and Ms. Li picked it up. Turning to Daria, she said, "It's for you, we intercepted a call from the Sloane's to your house."

Daria took the phone. "Morgendorffer residence."

"Daria, it's me," Tom said, "are you okay? We heard about Quinn, is she all right?"

"Yeah, we're both fine. Quinn's a bit of a nervous wreck after what she went through, and I had to ride back with her to help calm her down. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to get word to you."

"That's okay, as long as you're both safe," he said. 

Daria closed her eyes. Yet another lie between them. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be an agent after all. "Thanks," she said, in a quiet and defeated voice, "look, I've got to go deal with stuff, okay? I'll call you tomorrow, after school."

"Yeah. I may not be in school tomorrow. My father's been arrested, and we're going to see about bailing him out. If you can't reach me at home, call my Mom's cellphone, you've got the number."

"Oh, Tom, I'm sorry about your father. Yes, I'll call your mother's phone if I can't reach you directly. Got to go, bye." She hung up the phone, and cradled her face in her hands. "God, I hate myself. I've ruined his family, lied to him, and I can't even tell him so he can hate me."

The rest of her team looked away, as if they'd rather be anywhere else at the moment. Ms. Li pursed her lips in a frown. "You didn't ruin his family. His father did that all on his own. As it is, we'll probably do a deal with Angier in exchange for evidence against the other conspirators. His family should come through this with their finances intact, and if it makes it any better, they have you to thank for it. The SEC was about to land on Angier anyway. If you hadn't done this, he'd still be in jail, but without any reason for us to pull him out, and they'd be penniless."

Daria looked up at her, with tears streaking her eyes. "It doesn't really make it any better."

"I know," Angela said, with a note of sympathy, "deceit doesn't add that way. But it's still not your fault."

"Wait a second," Fingers said, "you're going to let him get away with attempted mass murder?"

"No," Angela replied, "that's one crime he wasn't guilty of. He was blackmailed into helping set up the Presidential kidnapping, but he didn't know any details of what they were doing beyond that. Technically, we're letting him get away with securities fraud and accessory to kidnapping, but that's all, and he doesn't get off scott-free. He's going to be in 'protective custody' until all the trials are over, and that's far longer than someone with his money would spend in jail for being an unwilling accessory to an unsuccessful kidnapping."

The door opened, and one of the staff walked in, carrying a red folder, which he handed to Ms. Li wordlessly, then he turned and left. She flipped through the folder, with everyone's eyes riveted on her. Then she closed it, and looked up.

"Well, our 'terrorist' cracked. He wasn't a terrorist after all, just a junior law clerk, in way over his head. He spilled everything. Between him and Angier, we can bring the whole conspiracy down with a little more work. Unfortunately, we still don't know where the damn bomb is, but we have confirmed that they have it, and plan to use it tomorrow night. And, we know who knows where it is. You should all get a good night's sleep, we'll probably be ready to move in the early morning."

Angela stood up, and walked out of the room. Daria looked around at the others. They looked back, grins on their faces. "We did it!" Jane yelled, and the others joined in.

Outside, in the ops center, Ms. Li smiled as she heard the cheers through the door. The team was settling in together nicely. It should, considering the years she'd invested in grooming the various members. It was a shame she'd be throwing them into the line of fire tomorrow, rather than using them for the kind of work they were best suited for, but it was necessary that she pull this off, and she couldn't risk outsiders who might not follow orders. Anticipation of a successful operation buoyed her spirits as she walked away.

*

Daria sat on her bed a couple of hours later, preparing for bed. She'd run the gauntlet of parental concern, but at least Quinn's night as a hostage seemed to have driven all thoughts of her supposed elopement out of her mother's head. Quinn had been subdued, which wasn't normal for her, but otherwise seemed to have come through her ordeal intact. Daria had to admit that her sister surprised her.

She sat there, thinking about the evening's operation. They'd taken Angier cleanly, and even brought in his contact in shape for interrogation despite the man's amateurish and suicidal stupidity of trying to shoot his way out of an ambush without being able to see a target. Now they had a line on the real backer, and could roll him up tomorrow. The conspiracy was falling apart like a Chinese puzzle with the key piece removed. She felt nervous: It was too easy, too neatly wrapped up. Something was going to go wrong tomorrow, she was sure of it, even though she couldn't say why. She stared at the far wall, without really seeing it, as she thought over the events of the last several days, trying to decide why she was so uneasy.

Her fruitless introspection was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Quinn asking if she could come in. Daria assented, and Quinn walked in and sat next to her on the bed.

"Daria," she said, "I wanted to thank you, for tonight."

"Huh? I didn't do anything Quinn, but I'm glad you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Here, this is yours." She handed the tracker bug back to Daria, then grabbed her in a fierce hug. "I'm glad you're my sister."

Daria wasn't sure how to react, but decided that hugging her back was the best idea. "Look, Quinn, I really didn't do anything. One of the FBI guys asked me to get that to you, I don't even know what it does."

"Okay, Daria, whatever you say." Quinn released her hug, and Daria saw that there were tears in her eyes, above a big smile. "Then, the thanks are just for you being you."

She hopped off the bed, and walked to the door. As she stepped through it, she turned back and, still smiling, said, "By the way, I would have thought even you would know that you can't make black fatigues stylish by wearing fake pearls with them," and she closed the door.

Daria sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door without moving, for several minutes.

**THE END (of Chapter 8)**

**Next week:** Chapter 9, Daria's People: In which yet more secrets are revealed, and Daria closes in on the mastermind, followed by chapter 10, Our Man in Lawndale, where the team faces a nuclear countdown, and the final showdown with the villain. Be here in a week for the surprising two-part conclusion to True Cynicism.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	9. Daria's People

Daria's People

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: April 2001 

**CHAPTER 9 - Daria's People**

As Daria walked down the stairs, she could hear her mother and Quinn talking at the breakfast table. Apprehensive, she strained to make out their words, but they were only talking about school. Quinn had recognized her last night. That still sent a chill down her back. One little slip, wearing the fake pearls containing her radio microphone--the ones that Quinn had seen earlier--with her supposedly anonymous fatigues. It was the sort of mistake that got agents killed. Not that this one would, but if Quinn broke her cover they could both wind up making an extended stay in a Federal penitentiary. Well, at least they'd have each other for company, and it would be less nerve-wracking than her life had been lately.

If Quinn were only older, this would be simpler. Angela wanted to recruit her anyway. But she was only sixteen, and agency policy prohibited recruiting minors. It was only policy, not law, and could be ignored if necessary. That was Angela's call to make. Meanwhile, Daria worried if Quinn understood the need for secrecy. She'd seemed to understand last night, but they hadn't really talked. They couldn't really talk; anything Daria said would only divulge more information, make the situation worse.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen, trying to look like it was just another morning before school. Her mother broke off and looked up. "Good morning sweetie, would you like some waffles?" She gestured at the plate in the center of the table, piled high. It looked like Dad had been cooking again; he always made enough to feed a small army, probably some kind of flashback to military school. Daria suddenly wondered if her new life gave her more in common with her father. She'd have to find some way to ask him if his school had had any classes in Military Intelligence.

She realized her mother was still looking at her, waiting for an answer. What was the question? Oh, breakfast. "Sure, looks good. Dad cooking for the Army again?"

"Yeah," said her sister. "And after he ate one, he realized he was late for a meeting, and ran off. It's a good thing I'm starved." She forked another two onto her plate, which was already smeared with syrup from a previous occupant. Daria wondered, not for the first time, how Quinn kept so slim. Of course, she usually didn't eat so much. Daria slid a lone waffle onto her own plate, and poured syrup over it.

"Sweetie, are you sure you want another two?" her mother asked Quinn. "How can you eat after your ordeal last night?" Helen looked suddenly hesitant. Wondering, no doubt, if reminding her daughter of being taken hostage by a terrorist had been the best thing to do in the middle of a meal.

Quinn, however, seemed unaffected. "Ordeal? Mo-om, nothing happened. This guy tied me to a golf cart and drove around the course, then some soldiers rescued me, and a cute guy in a wheelchair gave me a lift home."

"But Quinn, the terrorist threatened you with a gun, and then he was killed right in front of you." Helen, apparently abandoned by her own appetite, looked down at her own plate and pushed it away. "How can you eat?"

"God, Mom, don't be so dramatic. He didn't DO anything; he just waved a gun around. And he was a bad guy. Why should I care if the good guys killed him? Serves him right. It was gross, but that was yesterday. It doesn't bother me now."

Daria thought Quinn's protest sounded slightly forced. Her mother apparently thought the same. "Sweetie, will you at least talk to the school psychologist about it today?"

"Ugh, Mom, no way. Mrs. Manson's a real freak. I'll be fine."

Helen gave up. "Okay, but I'm going to drive you to school, and your father's going to pick you up at the end of the day. I want to know you're safe."

"Hey, whatever makes you happy." Quinn's uncharacteristic acceptance of the prospect of being seen in public with her parents convinced Daria that she was still upset by what had happened.

Helen looked at the remains of the waffle on her plate, and apparently had had enough. She stood. "I'm going to warm up the car. Finish your waffles and hurry out, we need to leave soon if I'm going to make my first meeting." Quinn grunted a vague assent, her mouth full of waffle, as their mother left the room.

After the door closed, Daria set her fork down. "Quinn, you're still bothered by last night, aren't you?" Quinn looked up with denial in her eyes. "Look, you might fool Mom, although I don't think you did, but you can't fool me, so don't even try."

Quinn chewed her waffle, and swallowed, spearing another chunk with her fork. But as she raised it to her mouth, she apparently changed her mind, and began to talk, waving the laden fork around for emphasis. "Of course I'm still freaked out. One of your friends killed someone right next to me. I spent hours washing the blood out of my hair. Maybe you're used to death, but I'm not."

"He's not dead," Daria said. "It was only a superficial wound."

"Oh. The paper this morning said he was killed." Quinn seemed relieved.

"Don't believe everything you read. But don't tell anyone he's alive. Officially, he was killed in a shootout." Daria was nervous. She shouldn't be telling Quinn this. But she'd be damned if she'd let her sister think she went around killing anyone who got in her way, even if she had wanted to kill the bastard for threatening Quinn.

"Daria," Quinn began, hesitantly, "what was last night all about? What are you involved in?"

"I can't tell you. But we are the 'good guys.'" She hesitated. "Um, it's really important that you don't tell anyone about me, or about anything except what was in the paper. Someday I'll probably be able to explain, but not anytime soon."

"Yeah, I understand." Quinn looked at Daria, a shy, vulnerable expression on her face. "I really am glad it was you last night." She stopped, embarrassed. Daria felt the same, and couldn't think how to respond.

She settled for changing the subject, pulling the tracking bug Quinn had returned last night out of her jacket pocket and handing it to her. "Here, keep this. It'll let us follow you if something were to happen again. Although it shouldn't be necessary; he didn't have any accomplices around here, and he only grabbed you because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Quinn looked at the bug, then stood up and slid it into the pocket of her jeans. "Thanks. I better go, before Mom freaks. Um, she thinks I was at the club for dinner, don't tell her about the award, okay? See you tonight?"

"Your secret's still safe with me. I don't know about tonight. There's a chance I'll be spending the night at Jane's."

"Oh. Well, be careful," Quinn said, entirely too perceptive for Daria's comfort. Quinn grabbed her pack off the floor, and ran for the driveway. "Bye, Daria!"

Daria waited until she heard the car pull out, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the cell phone, dialing a number rapidly. "Hello, ops? It's Cynic. I want a twenty-four by seven audio monitor on tracker thirty-two seventeen." She paused, while someone objected. "I know you're busy. It's important." She waited some more. "Because I said to, dammit! Have you forgotten you work for me?" Another pause. "Yes, that Cynic, how many do you know? Right, out." She hung up the phone. God, now she knew why Angela called them puppies.

She turned her attention back to the waffle. Just time to finish it, then she could walk to Jane's and they could pretend it was an ordinary school morning, even if it wasn't. That was the essence of a good cover: to live it, no matter what was happening. She felt vaguely guilty for having Quinn's conversations monitored, but if Quinn was going to slip up, they needed to know.

*

As Daria walked up to Jane's house, Jane dashed out. Daria thought about rebuking her for her uncharacteristic energy, but Jane hadn't had any training in maintaining a cover yet, so she settled for a mild comment instead. "Whoa there, it's just another school day, slow up."

Jane halted, and looked around self-consciously. Daria groaned inwardly. They really needed to send her to the training camp, and soon. Jane realized what she was doing, and stopped, with an embarrassed look. Then she walked up to Daria. "Damn, I'm never going to get the hang of this. So, how's the princess this morning? Still freaked out?"

Daria turned and headed for school, Jane keeping pace beside her. "Not as much as I expected. There's one problem though." Jane raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Quinn recognized the pearls I was wearing at the ambush." Jane stopped dead. Daria, perforce, stopped too.

"Did she tell anyone?" Jane asked.

"No. So far she's kept it to herself. Angela's going to kill me for making such a stupid mistake." Daria resumed walking. Jane followed.

"Why? You couldn't know Quinn would recognize a string of pearls in the dark. You'd think she'd have had other things on her mind, like the terrorist who'd been threatening to kill her."

"Yes, but I should have known. It is Quinn after all. If anyone's going to notice the way a hostage rescue team accessorizes it would be her."

"True," Jane assented. "Hey, Daria?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think of Fingers?"

Daria looked over at Jane, whose eyes were focused on the sidewalk in front of her, apparently unwilling to look at Daria. She wondered where this was coming from. Jane had seemed interested in him last night, but it wasn't like her to ask Daria about a guy.

"Fingers? He's a good comm. tech."

"No, not that, I mean as a person," Jane said, still intent on the pavement.

"I don't really know him any better than you do, why?"

"Well, it's just... Last night, we were getting along really well before Quinn was kidnapped. And then, that whole shooting thing. It's got me all confused. I realized I don't know him at all. To be able to shoot someone down in cold blood like that, and he said it was his specialty. It just bothers me. Is he some kind of assassin?" Jane finally met Daria's eyes as she finished. Daria was reminded of a kitten she'd once rescued from some boys who'd been tormenting it. It had had the same look of fearful uncertainty. She'd never seen Jane afraid before.

Daria considered her words carefully, thinking back to her orientation course. "No. We don't do assassinations. He's a sniper."

"What's the difference?"

"An assassin kills people because someone tells him to. A military sniper, like he was, kills enemy soldiers in wartime, the same as any other soldier. A civilian sniper only kills in defense of someone else, like in a hostage rescue. Neither is the same as assassination. Another part of a sniper's job is infiltration, observation and reporting. That part's very similar to what we usually do. It's not so surprising as you'd think for him to have come from that specialty. We get a lot of field agents that way." 

"Oh," said Jane.

Daria decided that sugarcoating it wasn't fair to Jane. "I'm not saying it's nothing. Killing from a distance, calmly and in cold blood, isn't the same as killing in the heat of a battle, and military snipers are a form of legitimate terrorism; their job is to cause chaos on the battlefield by removing officers, and to demoralize soldiers by making them aware that being surrounded by thousands of their fellows is no protection. But that doesn't make him evil. I think you need to judge him on his own merits, not on the job he was trained to do ten years ago. If he was some kind of psychotic, Angela wouldn't have him on her team."

"But, why didn't he mention it when he told me about his military experience? That's almost like lying about it."

"Well, he shouldn't even have told you about the military. We're supposed to keep our real identities secret, even from fellow team members. You, Brittany, and I are a special case, because we know each other in real life. Unfortunately, because of the way I recruited you, he knows who you are too. I guess it's all right for him to tell you about himself, given that, but it's really risky if other agents know you. They might be captured and interrogated, and your cover could be blown without you even knowing it."

"All these secrets. I can accept the need for secrecy in the abstract, but it's harder when it comes between me and someone I like. But, I guess you know that even better than I do," Jane said.

"Yeah, between Tom and Quinn, I'm becoming an expert on lying to the people who matter to me. But that's part of the job, and I need to accept that if I want to keep on doing it, and I think I do. If you and Fingers are going to be more than simply fellow team members, you're going to have to accept that both of you will have to keep secrets from the other sometimes."

Jane didn't respond, and they walked on in a companionable silence for a couple of blocks. Finally, Jane spoke: "Yeah, you're right. When you come down to it, I was quick enough to stick a gun in the terrorist's face last night, myself. And I would have shot him if it had been necessary to save your sister. That's not really any different from shooting someone from across a field."

"No, you wouldn't", Daria said, with a grin, glad of the change of subject, "you forgot to cock your gun."

"I did?"

"Yep."

"I'm never going to get the hang of this, am I?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Daria replied. "I'm not sure I'm ever going to get the hang of the more active parts of this job, and I'm not sure I want to. I'm much better at the planning end. Working back in the ops center was more my style. You'll be fine when you're in an information-gathering role. We just need to get through this emergency first."

"Yeah. All we need to do is save the Capitol, prevent World War III, and keep our fellow students from noticing we missed class. Piece of cake."

Daria chuckled, and the two walked on, thinking about the day ahead.

*

Angela stood at the head of the table in the briefing room. She faced the team, except for Fingers who had returned to DC last night to prepare for today's mission. She passed out stapled pages containing Xeroxed copies of building floor plans, background information, and aerial photographs of the grounds of a small mansion.

"This is the target," she said, indicating the photograph of a late middle-aged man on the last page. "Rupert Lyle. He's a well-known Washington lobbyist, and a partner in a high-profile law firm. The same firm that employed the man you captured last night. According to our informant, he's due to return home today at four PM, to make the final contact with the people who have the bomb, which is due to go off at seven PM. You're going to watch his house. When he makes the call it will be scrambled, and we won't have time to crack his code, so you're going to listen in on his end with a shotgun mike, and signal us when he makes contact, so we can trace it. Between eavesdropping and the trace, we should be able to locate the terrorists. Once we're sure we know where they are, you'll collect him, while one of our other teams takes care of the weapon."

"Why don't I just bug his house in advance?" asked Brittany. "That's more reliable than an external mike."

"True," Angela said. "But we're pretty sure his home security system is state of the art. If you set it off going in, he'll switch to some backup plan we don't know. We can't take that risk."

"What if he doesn't return home to make the call?" asked Daria.

"I have another team covering his office, and his car has been bugged, but I don't think either of them will be used. He doesn't want any risk that he'd be detected, and virtually every phone in Washington is tapped by somebody. He knows his home phone is secure. He does government work, and the FBI sweeps it periodically. They just checked it last week, or I'd send you in disguised as FBI for a new sweep. Any other questions?"

The others were silent, flipping quickly through the papers in front of them. Finally, Daria made eye contact with each of them, receiving small nods. She turned to Angela. "Nope, we're ready to roll. I'll call you when we get to DC."

"Right. Good luck people, we're counting on you." She picked up the papers in front of her, and left the room at a brisk walk. 

Daria turned to Jane and Brittany. "Go get your stuff, and sign out a motor pool car. I need to check on the bug I set on Quinn, just in case, and then we'll be off. It's a long drive to the city, and we need to be in position well before four, in case he's early."

The others nodded, and gathered their papers. Daria hurried out, intent on her unpleasant duty.

*

Outside the school, Daria joined the other two, with a serious look on her face. It had been nearly thirty minutes since the meeting broke up, and Jane asked if there was a problem with Quinn, but Daria shook her head. Jane decided to leave her to her thoughts, and watched the town go by outside the window as Brittany drove. It was so peaceful. Jane had never thought she'd be nostalgic for Lawndale, but now she couldn't wait for the mission to be over, so she could return here.

As Brittany pulled out onto the highway, Daria tapped her on the shoulder, and pointed to the next exit. "Turn here. We're taking a shortcut." Brittany nodded, and swung the car back off the highway. Jane raised an eyebrow in inquiry, but Daria shook her head. Once they were off the highway, she continued to give Brittany directions without speaking, until they arrived at Lawndale airport. It was a small facility, mostly used by private pilots, and a couple of commuter flights to nearby cities. A separate terminal building served several airfreight services that kept planes here, rather than in the more expensive city airports.

They left the car in a small parking lot next to the airfreight terminal, and walked into the building. On the far side of the room, Daria recognized a familiar figure, despite his lack of uniform. She walked over to Major Stewart and shook his hand. "Good to see you again. Glad you could make it."

"I'm happy to be of assistance. If you'll come this way, we're ready to go." He turned and led them out though a back door onto the paved apron of the airport. A U.S. Marine helicopter was waiting, with rotors idling.

They ran to the door on the side, and climbed aboard, closing it behind them. As soon as everyone was strapped down, the Major tapped the pilot on the shoulder and gestured. The engines reved, and they were airborne. The Major passed out headsets with microphones, so they could talk to each other over the engine noise.

"So, Agent Powers, we'll have you at Bolling in thirty minutes tops. Some of my men have already contacted your associate, and he'll be there to meet you. My team will wait at the airbase in case you need any more assistance."

"Thanks. We should be able to handle this on our own, but it's good to know you're backing us up."

They passed the rest of the journey in silence. Daria shrugged off the inquiring looks from Jane and Brittany, and they accepted the need for secrecy, keeping their questions to themselves.

*

At Bolling Air Force Base, just south of the White House, they joined the waiting Fingers in his van, and headed up the Anacostia Freeway towards the city. It was just past rush hour, and the roads were still quite busy, but not jammed. Daria picked up a clipboard and wrote a quick note to Fingers. He read it, and looked up at her in surprise, then began to fiddle with his communications equipment. Daria waved Jane to silence as she was about to speak, and they waited for Fingers.

Eventually Fingers finished his work, and turned to Daria with a puzzled frown. "Three bugs," he said, "how did you know?"

"Are they all dead now? Any transmissions going out at all?"

"All dead, and everything's shut down. If anything were transmitting, I'd have it. The only risk is a record-and-burst transmitter; I think I'd have found one, but I can't guarantee it since it wouldn't be transmitting."

"Okay." Daria pushed the door to the front of the van open, so Brittany could listen. "Here's the deal, folks. Don't ask how I know--there are some need-to-know issues involved and I can't tell you--but we've been set up. The fellow we captured the other night was a plant. The goal was to ensure that we waited to search the house until four. My bet is that the bomb's inside, and it's going to go off sometime before four PM, not at seven as we thought. We need to move in, and recover the bomb before then. If we need firepower, the Major's men are standing by, but I expect light opposition, if any. They aren't going to sit around on top of an atomic bomb if they can avoid it."

"So, who bugged us, and why the radio silence?" asked Fingers.

"The terrorists. There's a leak in the agency," said Daria. "We've gone silent to avoid tipping them off. They're not expecting us to be in position for several hours yet, so lack of contact shouldn't raise any suspicions."

"Does the Colonel know?" asked Brittany.

"No. I couldn't find a way to tell her without risking being overheard. We'll deal with the agency problem after we've disposed of the bomb. I have some ideas on how we can smoke our leak out. But for now, lets focus on disarming the bomb. That's our priority."

They lay the floor plans out on the communications console, and began making plans for entering the mansion without alerting any guards that might still be there.

**THE END (of Chapter 9)**

**Next episode:** Chapter 10, Our Man in Lawndale: The mastermind is revealed, in the concluding chapter of True Cynicism.

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



	10. Our Man in Lawndale

Our Man in Lanwdale

**Daria in 'True Cynicism'**

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker ([mystik_slacker@hotmail.com][1]) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: April 2001 

**CHAPTER 10 - Our Man in Lawndale**

Daria, Jane, and Brittany exited the van, which was parked on a quiet, tree-lined, side street, a short distance from their quarry's mansion. A brick wall surrounded the mansion itself. The wall was an elegant touch, but not particularly effective as a defense. The risk would be inside the wall, from guards, dogs, or mere electronic sensors.

The three moved up to the wall. Nobody seemed to be in a position to observe them, although in the bright mid-day sun it was hard to tell if someone might be watching from another house. The three were anonymous in black fatigues, body armor, and full-face hoods, but even with the letters "FBI" stamped on the back of their jackets, it was possible a concerned neighbor might call 911. If that happened, Daria could deal with it, but only at the risk of alerting the terrorists due to the leak at HQ.

At the wall, Brittany deployed a variety of passive sensors, looking for electronic watchers, or the traces of radio that would give away human guards carrying communications equipment. Daria and Jane flanked her, facing outward. Both carried short-barreled semi-automatic shotguns. Useless at any significant range, but highly effective in the close quarters of a house. They all wore short-range radios that Fingers had checked and declared clean, but were keeping silent to avoid alerting any guards.

Brittany finished her initial sweep, and gave a thumbs-up. Then she pulled out the device she'd used when they rescued the President, and held the flexible tube containing the camera over the top of the wall. Daria looked up at the LCD, as Brittany panned back and forth, verifying the grounds were clear of obvious guards. Next she scanned the house itself, but no watchers were visible in any windows. Brittany returned the camera to her belt, and nodded to Daria.

Daria slung her weapon, and made a stirrup with her fingers. Brittany launched herself to the top of the wall with a cheerleader's grace, pausing to look for guards again. Then she assisted Jane to the top of the wall. Jane took up a guard position, as Brittany hoisted Daria up. Then, with the other two watching for guards, Brittany dropped into the grounds, and began scanning with her electronic toys. Shortly, she waved the two down, and the three of them began moving slowly across the lawn, towards the rear of the building.

They reached the back yard, and what proved to be a kitchen door, without incident. Daria was beginning to sweat from the combination of sunlight on her black clothing, and the weight of the bulletproof vest over it. She brushed the moisture from her forehead with her left hand, and then returned it to holding the barrel of her gun. A glance through the glass in the upper half of the door showed no obvious guards.

Brittany ran a small box around the edge of the door, marking one spot with a pencil. When she was done, she glued a small box to the spot she had marked, and pushed a button on it. A small green light on the box illuminated. She turned to Daria, and mimed unlocking the door. Daria nodded, and Brittany set to work with a set of lock picks. When the door unlocked, she glanced at Daria for confirmation, and then turned the knob and pushed the door inwards, jumping to one side.

As agreed, Daria went through the door first, breaking to the right. Brittany followed, going left with a pistol in her hand, and Jane came last. The room was empty, and Jane closed the door behind them. Daria could see the alarm sensor on the inside of the door, right where Brittany's box was mounted to the outside.

They moved through the house cautiously, encountering nobody. After sweeping the ground floor, they moved upstairs. Again, it was deserted. There was a locked door closing what the floor plan claimed was a stairway to the attic. Daria had Brittany check it for alarms, and unlock it, but held off opening it. It was possible an ambush waited inside the door, or a booby-trap. She whispered into Brittany's ear, and she nodded, extracting yet another gadget from the capacious pouches around her waist.

Daria and Jane retreated from the door, as Brittany unfolded something that looked like a mechanical spider, and attached it to the doorknob. She pushed a button on it, and ran to join the other two. As the spider's legs extended, and it began to simultaneously turn the doorknob and push against the doorframe, the three ducked into a room across the hall, Brittany watching out the door with her electronic periscope.

As the door swung open, there was a loud explosion that blew it off its hinges. Brittany dropped the periscope in surprise, and Jane dived to the floor. Daria, who had been given some training on building assaults, leaped into the hallway and covered the shattered doorway with her gun while the other two recovered themselves. When they were ready, she moved down to the doorway, darting a look though the smoke and dust filling the stairway.

The stairs themselves, although torn up by shrapnel, seemed intact. Nothing was moving. Daria took a deep breath to calm her nerves, and pulled a grenade from her belt. It was a flash-bang; a mild explosive intended to stun and confuse anyone in the room. It was probably redundant, given that a real grenade had just gone off, but just to be safe she pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade into the room above. 

As soon as it went off, she charged up the stairs, diving out of the stairwell onto the floor in a low roll that brought her upright facing back the way she'd come. The room was empty, except for some dusty furniture. She moved cautiously to the stairwell, and waved an all clear to the other two, then she began to search the room.

Jane and Brittany joined her, and it was Brittany who eventually found the bomb. It was lying on a couch, in a nest hollowed out of the bottom of a seat-cushion, hidden from casual discovery. Daria checked the arming panel, which showed signs of tampering. It was definitely armed, a red light glowing ominously on the panel, but there was no convenient clock counting down the minutes until detonation. Normally a shell like this could only be detonated by impact, or a short timer started by the shock of the shell being fired. She expected that someone had tampered with the internals of the arming mechanism to add a longer manual timer. Hopefully they hadn't added a mercury switch to detect anyone moving the shell. She doubted it, given the resting place on the couch. It was too likely that sagging springs would set off a motion sensitive switch; they would have used a more solid resting place if they had made such a modification. She hoped.

For the first time since leaving the van, she spoke: "Fingers, we have the package, and it's warm. We're on our way out." She turned to the others. "You two, carry the shell. I'll take point in case we've attracted any attention."

"Um, you want us to carry a live atomic bomb?" Jane asked, incredulous.

"It's not going to go off if you drop it," Daria said. "And it almost certainly will go off if we try to disarm it ourselves. I want Fingers to work on it, and that means getting it to the van."

"But I want to have kids someday!" Brittany wailed. "I don't want them to have three eyes, or to be cannibals or something! You carry it."

"Brittany," Daria said, exasperated, "it's well shielded, and not very radioactive anyway. You probably run more risk every time you use a microwave oven. Just pick the damn thing up. I'm the only one of us who can hit the side of a barn with one of these guns, so I need to be the guard."

"Oh," said Brittany. "Okay."

Jane and Brittany lifted the bomb, which was not light, and began to carry it towards the stairs. Daria went down quickly, diving into the hallway in case anyone was waiting for them, but there was nobody there. She searched the rooms opening off the hall while she listened to the others come down the stairs slowly. Once they were down, they moved to the main stairs.

They left the building, unmolested, through the kitchen door, circling around to the front. Fingers had brought the van up to the gates, and as soon as he saw them, he drove in, smashing the decorative wrought iron aside easily; the van was reinforced for such work.

They loaded the bomb into the van, as Fingers moved quickly from the driver's seat, which was equipped with special controls to allow him to drive, into his wheelchair. He rolled over to the desk where the bomb sat. He turned to Daria. "Do we have the disarm codes?" he asked.

"Yes, but I don't trust them. Someone had to modify the arming system to give it a countdown timer, they could easily have wired it so any use of the keypad detonated it."

"Okay, then we do this the hard way. I'll drill in from the side, and use some micromanipulators to cut the power to the trigger assembly. This will take a few minutes. What don't you wait outside?"

"Why?" asked Brittany. "It's not like we're any safer out there."

"No, but you're a lot less likely to distract me at the wrong moment, and get us all killed." 

Daria could hear the strain in his voice. No matter how straightforward he made it sound, this wasn't an easy procedure, but they couldn't risk waiting for a disposal squad. She led the others out of the van, looking around for the first time at the house and grounds as a home, rather than as a collection of potential hiding-places for enemies. It was a nice place, much nicer even than the Sloane house. The grenade had blown out several of the upstairs windows earlier, but otherwise it was spotless. The lawn was precisely manicured, and no weed marred the flowerbeds. Everything spoke of extensive, and expensive, maintenance. She wondered what could motivate someone who obviously loved their home to use it as ground zero for an atomic bomb. How could greed, or a lust for power, override such a basic emotion. Perhaps they'd find out when they interrogated the owner, but it would probably be as inexplicable to him as it was to her.

Daria sat on the ground, in the meager shade cast by the van, where the other two joined her. They waited, impatiently, for Fingers to disarm the bomb, or for their deaths if he made a mistake. At least a mistake would kill them so suddenly they'd never even know it had happened. Daria supposed that should be comforting, there were many less pleasant ways to die than simply switching off like a light, but she failed to draw any comfort from the thought.

After nearly a half hour, Fingers called out to them. "That's it, it's not a bomb any longer."

Daria stood and climbed into the van, feeling a sense of anticlimax. It was over so simply. Well, not quite, there was still the agency leak to deal with, but the city was safe, and that was the really important part. She stepped up beside Fingers, and looked at the bomb. "It doesn't look so threatening now, does it?" she asked him.

"No, but I'll still be glad when we turn it over to someone," he replied.

Daria nodded. "Brittany, Jane," she called, "saddle up. We're headed back to Bolling."

The others climbed in, and Brittany moved up front to drive. Daria joined her to give Jane and Fingers some privacy; Jane had clearly come to terms with any issues she'd had regarding his past, and they apparently needed to reassure each other that they were still alive.

As Brittany pulled out onto the street, she phoned Major Stewart to let him know the emergency was over, and that it was time to start the hunt. Then she called another number, and said, simply: "It's Cynic, we'll be in place in an hour, do it." Then she relaxed, and began to peel the body armor off; she'd need it again, later, but for now she wanted to cool off and let her muscles, sore from the unaccustomed effort of assaulting a house in full gear, relax.

*

The flight of three Marine helicopters bearing the Major's team swept into Lawndale at treetop level, eventually landing in a field near the multimovieplex on the outskirts of town. A battered car, and a delivery van for the town paper, waited nearby. Daria and the Major jumped down from the lead helicopter, and hurried to the car.

The door opened, and a young man wearing a Russian army officer's uniform stepped out. "I told you we'd meet again, Daria. Hello, Major Stewart."

Daria smiled, while Alexei and the Major shook hands, then she stepped up and gave him a quick hug. "It's good to see you again. So, you're official now?" she said, gesturing at his uniform.

"Yes, with my cover blown I've been reassigned. My superiors were quite pleased by the rescue of your President, and I am now the military attache in our Washington embassy. It's quite a coup; usually only officers with twenty years of seniority get such a posting. And I owe it all to the two of you."

"Well, we're here to collect," said Daria. "Is the bait set?"

"Yes. Although the KGB destroyed any records of agents in Lawndale at the end of the Soviet Union, I sent a request for a meeting through one of our usual methods. If there's an ex-agent in town, this should flush him out. I'm putting my neck on the line here. If we flush someone other than your leak, there are people in Moscow who will see this as treason."

"I understand," said Daria. "If someone else shows up, they can walk away clean, although their cover will obviously be blown. I'm only interested in the people behind the Presidential kidnapping, and the leak who will lead us to them. I think we still have a common goal there."

"Yes, we do. The meeting is in fifteen minutes, at an abandoned gas station two miles from here. You and I will go in by car, and the rest of your team can stand by in the van until you call for them."

"I suppose it's pointless to object to this plan," said the Major. "But I don't like watching the two of you go in without backup."

"We need to keep a low profile," said Daria. "If the agent realizes it's a trap, he'll just claim that he intercepted the signal, and was looking for the Russian agent himself. I need to surprise him, and gain a confession."

"Hmph," the Major grunted. "Capture him first, get the confession later. If he's guilty, we can get a confession, and if not, well, it's one of the risks of the job."

"I'm not as confident as you that you can force a confession. This is a tough agent, who's been in place since before the end of the cold war. He won't necessarily crack without a more strenuous interrogation than we can justify on suspicion alone."

"So, what makes you think you can get a confession yourself?" asked Alexei.

"I'll have the benefit of surprise. Anyway, it's not up for discussion. This is my operation, and you both agreed in advance to let me run it my way. Shall we go?"

"You haven't led us wrong yet," said the Major. "We'll be in the van, listening to your radio. Call when you need us."

Daria climbed into Alexei's car--she was still wearing her black fatigues and armor--and pulled on her hood, becoming an anonymous guard. She wore a sidearm, but had left the shotgun behind. Alexei climbed in beside her, and they drove down the road.

"How do you want to play this? he asked.

"When we get there, we both get out. I'll act the silent guard, you engage her in conversation. Try to get her to admit she's your agent. I'll jump in when the time is right."

"Her? You know who the agent is? Why didn't you say?"

"I don't know, but I have a strong suspicion. I didn't want to bias anyone's judgment in advance by sharing my guess."

The car pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned gas station a few minutes later. Daria, playing her role, exited the car first and broke the flimsy lock on the building, checking to ensure it was empty. Back outside, she walked around the building once before waving to Alexei. He joined her, and the two of them waited at the front of the building. Daria stood a few feet behind Alexei, in an alert rest position, with her hands folded behind her back and her spine straight, doing her best to look like a skilled, but inconsequential, bodyguard. The gas station was on a lightly used side road, and no cars went past while they waited. Precisely on time, a sedan pulled up, and Angela Li stepped out of it, looking around quickly.

She hurried up to Alexei, surprise and anger warring on her face. "What the hell are you doing in uniform?" she asked. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," said Alexei. "It doesn't matter now. You've been blown. I'm here to evacuate you before the FBI arrives. If we can get you to the embassy, we'll be able to move you out under diplomatic immunity."

"Blown? I can't be. I've been inactive for ten years." Angela's response was indignant, but it was still a confession. However, Daria needed something more than a ten-year-old double agent. She held herself silent, while Alexei continued.

"Inactive until your recent adventure with the President," he said, causing Angela to tense. "Yes, we know about that. Did you think it was a secret from us? Really, we're not that inefficient. It was a good attempt, but you failed, and the failure exposed you."

"No! There's no way they could know. Everything was done through layers of cutouts, and the last evidence will be wiped in a couple of hours. Go back to Washington, but I'm staying here. Don't contact me again." She began to turn away, and Daria reached up with her left hand, and pulled off the hood.

"He's right, Angela, you're definitely blown," she said, to her look of disbelief. "It's over, and your little toy has been disarmed. Surrender quietly, and I'm sure we can cut a deal. Alexei here would really like to know who your friends back in Moscow are, and we're interested in who else over here was involved."

Angela started to reach inside her jacket, but stopped as Daria had already covered her with the gun she'd been holding behind her back during the conversation. A defeated look came over her, as she held her hands away from her body. "Damn," she said, "I knew you were too good."

"That's why you set us up, isn't it?" Daria asked, surprised that she could be so calm, facing the woman she'd thought was her friend, who had tried to murder her and her team.

"Yes, it was. I knew if you survived, you'd find me out. You know me too well, and you'd never stop looking for the culprits after the bomb went off. That sense of justice of yours would have undone me, in the end." She chuckled, an ironic sound, devoid of humor. "It did. And I have nobody to blame but myself. I should have left you as a student, rather than deliberately using the satellite transmission jammer when you were on the roof so I'd have an excuse to recruit you."

"Bomb?" asked Alexei. "What bomb?"

"The bomb she tried to use on the capitol this afternoon. Just a little tac nuke. We defused it." She returned her attention to Angela: "So, why did you recruit me?"

"Because I knew you'd make a good agent. I've been grooming you for years for the job. All of our conflicts: the altered painting for the contest, the soda contract, everything since Manson identified you as a potential candidate has been to ensure that you were prepared to fight impossible odds for your ideals. I didn't plan on using you for this operation, I didn't even know it was going to happen, but when the opportunity came along, it was too good to miss, and you were the perfect combination of skill and naivete to throw into the mix. You were good enough that I could justify using you, but I expected you to fail."

"Your confidence overwhelms me," Daria said, deadpan. "But why do this in the first place? You said yourself you haven't been a double-agent since communism died, why now?"

"Because I'm approaching retirement, and I can't live on a government pension, if I even get one. With the cold war over, it's likely that the agency will be shutdown before I even make my twenty years, and I'm too old to start a new career. All the money I made as a double agent has been spent, and I barely make ends meet on what I can divert from agency and school funds. When we captured the German eco-terrorists who hijacked the nuclear weapon, I knew I could use it as a bargaining tool to guarantee the agency's survival, and a larger budget. All I had to do was see that it fell into the hands of some ex-KGB people who wanted to play terrorist, and push them in the right direction."

"So it was all about money?" Daria asked, disappointment clear in her voice.

"No, it was about preserving the agency. I won't deny I had other motives, but there are threats out there, and people like you and me are needed to combat them. We've done such a good job that others forget how real the threat is. This is a war. Not the cold war, but a new war against people who value their own objectives above human life."

"As you value the agency above the lives of a half-million residents of the Capitol? You talk a good game, Angela, but when you come right down to it, you're no better than the terrorists you fight. Nietzsche said that when you fight monsters, you need to be careful not to become one. You weren't careful enough."

"You fight them for twenty years, and see how lily-white you are, Daria. This isn't a job where you can keep your conscience clean. You think you're bothered by lying to your boyfriend now, but when happens the day you discover your boyfriend is one of the enemy? Tell me who the monster is then." Angela slumped, apparently having said all she had to say. Daria faced her, unspeaking, unwilling to find out anything more about her idol's motives. She already knew more than she'd wanted to, and they weren't things she'd forget readily.

The delivery truck pulled in while they were speaking, and marines poured out, surrounding the three of them. As the soldiers led Angela away, Daria holstered her gun, following Angela's departing back with sad eyes. 

Angela had been the one who taught her to trust no facts she had not verified herself, and it was that training that had led Daria to question the convenience of the captured terrorists story. Investigating surveillance records on Angier, collected as part of the routine checks run on anyone who regularly interacted with students or staff at Lawndale High, she'd found that some of the records were missing. That led her to suspect a leak in the agency, and to look for unexplained absences or travel. She'd turned up several trips to the city by Angela, ostensibly to report to her superiors. As Angela's aide and Ops coordinator, Daria had the authority and contacts to check with those superiors, and there had been no such meetings. After that, it was merely a matter of maneuvering her into a confession.

Daria thought that she should feel proud: she'd unmasked a double agent who'd operated in the center of one of the most secret agencies in the government for years, passing every security check. That was an accomplishment any agent should revel in. But even though Angela had been a traitor, and had intended to murder an entire city for personal gain and misplaced ideals, arresting her merely felt like another betrayal. It was the final straw, on top of sending Tom's father to jail, and lying to her family. What was the point of being good at a job, if you couldn't accept the results? There didn't seem to be one.

Brittany and Jane walked up while she was thinking, with stunned expressions. Neither seemed able to form a sentence, so the three of them, plus Alexei, simply stood there in silence. The Major came over and said something congratulatory. Daria really wasn't paying attention, although she made some appropriate response. He eventually left, followed by Jane.

Alexei, with Brittany, led Daria to the car, where she sat quietly for a time. Eventually Jane returned, and the three of them joined Daria, and drove to the Lawndale Airport. There, Alexei left to catch a flight back to the city, and the other three returned to Lawndale High in the car they had left at the airport earlier in the day, stopping only to change into normal clothing on a quiet stretch of road.

At the ops center, Daria broke the news to the staff, and had them begin sweeping the facility for bugs, and checking the records to determine what agents and secrets might have been compromised. The odds were that everything had been compromised at one time, but if Angela had truly been retired as a double agent for ten years, recent agents might still be clear. Records identifying field agents were tightly controlled, and even Angela could not have accessed them without cause, or without leaving a trail.

Once the staff had their work to occupy them, Daria wrote her report, and forwarded it to her newly acquired superiors in the city. Let them sort out this mess, she thought. I'm done.

At the end of the day, she and Jane walked home. She found her parents obsessing over Quinn, and retreated to her room with a few words.

*

The last few weeks of school went by quickly. Daria was fully occupied with finishing up a few last-minute assignments, as well as managing the Ops center by herself. The powers-that-be in Washington promised to send out a replacement for the Colonel, and asked her to remain on full-time over the summer, to train him. She didn't have anything better to do, so she agreed, but her heart wasn't in the work any more. 

She and Tom had several serious fights, stemming from her withdrawn state, and unwillingness to talk to him about it. Even her parents began to notice that something was wrong, but some careful excuses, supported by Quinn, convinced them that it was just nostalgia for the end of her high-school years. Some days she wondered how they could be so out of touch with their own daughter, to believe she'd ever had fond feelings for the place that had been her prison for the last three years.

One night, several weeks later, she was sitting at home, reading. Her father was watching television, and her mother and Quinn were in the kitchen, discussing Quinn's lack of a summer job. Daria was at least able to avoid that conversation this year; her work for the agency had resulted in a cover job doing inventory in the school library. As Quinn had once said, nobody ever questioned a simple, obvious, explanation.

The doorbell rang. Daria looked up from her seat on the couch, as her father called into the kitchen: "Quinn! Your date's here!"

"What are you talking about, Dad?" Quinn asked, entering from the kitchen. "I don't have a date tonight." She continued over to the door, and opened it, revealing a man in uniform standing in the doorway. Daria dropped her book, as she recognized Major Stewart.

Helen walked into the living room, while Quinn was trying to explain to the Major that they weren't interested in whatever he was selling. Daria choked back laughter at the expression of confused disbelief on the Major's face.

Helen interrupted her daughter before she could slam the door in his face. "Good evening, uh, officer? What can we do for you?"

"It's Major, ma'am. Major Stewart. I have a message for Daria Morgendorffer."

Daria stood up and walked to the door, as her mother tried to decide how to deal with the man standing on their front step.

"Do come in, Major," Daria said. "There's no point in inviting in all the mosquitoes in town by holding the door open."

The Major entered, closing the door before Helen could object. He pulled an unmarked white envelope from his briefcase, and handed it to Daria. "Go ahead, open it. I'm supposed to wait."

She tore the envelope open, wondering what kind of message had to be delivered in person, and to her home, violating every security arrangement she knew. A single sheet of paper was contained within, headed by the Presidential seal. Below it was a short paragraph. She read it to herself, and then handed the letter to her mother, who was hovering nearby.

"Dear Ms. Morgendorffer," Helen read aloud, "I understand from one of your team members that the secrecy surrounding the events of May 19 through 22 have placed an undue strain on your family and personal life. Although the details must remain classified, you are hereby authorized to provide general information regarding your role in those events to whomever you deem necessary. I trust in your discretion. The bearer of this letter, Major Stewart, will provide confirmation of any necessary facts, since he was involved in the more significant events surrounding my kidnapping and the terrorist threat. I do hope that the regrettable conclusion of this affair will not taint government service in your eyes. You have been of immeasurable value to your country, and I hope that we may continue to count on you in the future." Helen stopped, and looked at Daria. "It's signed by the President. Daria, what's this all about?"

"Mom, it's a long story. Why don't we all sit down, and I'll tell you the important parts." She turned to the Major. "Have a seat, this will take a while, and when we're done, I'm going to need to do it all over for my boyfriend."

"Not a problem, Daria. When the commander-in-chief tells me to make myself available, I don't have any other duties. Besides, I owe you myself for all of your assistance."

"Thanks," Daria said. She turned to her parents, and Quinn, and began to explain recent events: "It all started a few months ago, when I was skipping study hall and hanging out on the school roof. I saw something I shouldn't have, and, to make a long but classified story short, ended up being recruited by a counter-terrorism agency. That led to my recent trip to Washington, with Jane providing unwitting cover..." 

Daria continued to talk, glossing over details that would identify other agents, or reveal unnecessary information. As she did, a sense of accomplishment came to her. She really had done quite a lot, and even if she couldn't tell her family the details, it was enough that they knew she was doing something important, and doing it well enough to merit a letter from the President. Angela's betrayal still bothered her, primarily because she could see herself losing perspective the way Angela had. But since she knew the risk, she could guard against it. She enjoyed working in the ops center, and began to think that after she had a degree, she might find the analysis and planning end of things rewarding. Fieldwork was definitely not her favorite task, but it would be shortsighted to write the whole Intelligence field off without more experience. Besides, now that Angela was gone, someone had to see that Quinn was recruited when she turned eighteen...

**THE END (of Chapter 10 and the Serial)**

**Next week:** Nothing. That's it; it's over. 

**Author's Notes:**

When I originally decided to extend the original story (chapter one) into a serial, my intent was to do a humorous version of True Lies, hence the title. After the first chapter, the characters began to lead lives of their own, and the story took a more serious tone. Around halfway through, I realized I was telling a coming-of-age story, where Daria puts aside childhood concerns for the responsibilities of an adult. Daria has always been a thirty-year-old in a teenager's body in some senses, but she's never had the responsibility that comes with being an adult. Of course, most of us never have to deal with responsibility of the level she has in this story, but examining issues through exaggeration is a well-established technique of story telling. One of the reasons you don't see Daria being cynical and sarcastic as much in this story as she is in other things I've written, is that sarcasm is a mechanism she uses for dealing with things that offend her, but over which she has no control. Here, I've kept the focus on things she has the power to control, and hence there's been little room, or need, for sarcasm. That doesn't mean she isn't still a cynic. A cynic (by one definition) is simply a disillusioned idealist, and if anything, she has the illusions ripped from her ideals fairly thoroughly in this story. But, in the end, the "True Cynicism" of this story is Ms. Li's motivation. The whole reason for the terrorist plot is her cynical assumption (quite probably true) that all of her work at the agency, along with her personally, is going to be discarded as no longer necessary. 

This story was a departure for me in a number of ways. Usually when I write, I first make a detailed outline laying out action and events scene-by-scene (this, incidentally, is the exact opposite of how many "how to write" guides tell you to write, but it works for me). Here, I had some vague ideas in my head about how I wanted it to end (the evil mastermind being a supposed good-guy) but each chapter's events were made up as I wrote the chapter, and I didn't know Angela was the bad guy until around chapter 7, although I think my subconscious may have been planning it before then. This makes for a somewhat uneven story in places, and it could certainly do with an outline-and-rewrite cycle, but I'm not going to do that. I think the story works as it stands. It was also a departure due to length (two to three times the length of my usual story) and format (prose, rather than the pseudo-script form I use most often, although I'd done two prose Daria stories before this). And, finally, it was written as a weekly serial, with dramatic hooks at the end of each chapter to (hopefully) inspire readers to wait impatiently for the next chapter. Writing short, interesting chapters turned out to be easier than I expected, although many were twice the 2,000-word size I'd originally planned.

Finally, this was a fairly intense experience. I usually write dialog and descriptive text for a story in a week or so, but spend several quiet weeks planning plot in advance and rewriting after the first draft. Here, I was writing intensely several days a week, for an eight-week period. It was good experience, and my writing skills definitely improved over the course of the story, but the cost was putting the rest of my life on hold for two months. I'm not likely to do something so intense again, but it's nice to know I can.

For those readers with an interest in real Intelligence activities, one of the most informative books I've read on the subject is: The Double-Cross System, by J. C. Masterman (large-format paperback, The Lyons Press, ISBN 1-58574-130-2). This is the text of a 1945 report, declassified in the seventies, regarding the British Intelligence operation that turned most of the German Intelligence network in the British Isles during World War II into double agents. It's full of interesting detail about the organization and operation of Intelligence networks.

Title origins: 

(Chapters 1-6 were explained in the notes for chapter 5, but I'm repeating them here so there'll be a complete list in one location).

Most of these titles draw somehow from other books/films involving espionage, terrorism, or something related. A few come from nowhere in particular. In any case the contents of the chapter rarely has much to do with the original inspiration of the title, but I try to use titles that relate to the chapter somehow.

Chapter 1: Satellite Transmission Jammer - as previously noted, this comes from a brief comment by Ms. Li in Fizz Ed about the cost of such a device. In the chapter, Daria becomes suspicious of the behavior of a satellite dish antenna on the school roof.

Chapter 2: A View to a Spill - Derives from the title of the James Bond film, A View to a Kill. Kevin falls in a fountain at the end of the chapter. Okay, it's weak, I admit it. But I liked the title.

Chapter 3: Mission Implausible - Obviously derives from Mission: Impossible. And what could be more implausible than a high school girl saving the President from an assassin?

Chapter 4: Last Tango in Washington - The title is a variation on Last Tango in Paris. In the episode, Daria dances the tango with Alex, a scene inspired by the two tango scenes in True Lies.

Chapter 5: Executive Disorder - An Executive Order is a directive signed by the President. The Chief Executive being kidnapped is fairly disorderly. See the connection?

Chapter 6: A Small Town in Maryland - From the John le Carre novel, A Small Town in Germany. The town is Lawndale, of course, since this is the chapter where Daria returns home from Washington. For purposes of this story I'm presuming Lawndale is in Maryland, one of the places that's been suggested as a possible location. Before anyone notes all the reasons Lawndale can't be in Maryland, I'll just point out that this story would make much less sense if it were in California, Texas, or New England.

Chapter 7: The Honourable Schoolgirl - Another le Carre inspired title (The Honourable Schoolboy). Can you tell I'm a le Carre fan? The schoolgirl is Quinn, whose secret life is revealed which she wins an award for coordinating a clothing donation project.

Chapter 8: Pale Pink for Peril - This one is a play on John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee mystery novels, all of which have titles relating to colors. I've even included an FBI agent named McGee. It's another Quinn reference, since she has a fondness for pink, and this is the chapter that centers on her experience as a hostage.

Chapter 9: Daria's People - Another le Carre title (Smiley's People). I chose the title mainly because the chapter focused on incidents with Quinn, Jane, Angela, Major Stewart, and finally Daria's team preparing for the assault.

Chapter 10: Our Man in Lawndale - A play on the Graham Green novel, Our Man in Havana, about a reluctant secret agent who falsifies reports for financial gain. It's a reference to Ms. Li, with the gender changed to avoid telegraphing the guilty party.

What's Next?

Well, I'm going to write a more conventional Daria story next. I don't have any immediate plans for a sequel to this story, but the idea of a collegiate or post-college Daria the Intelligence Agent won't go away, so an eventual sequel is probable.

Finally, I hope those of you who stuck with me this long (or who came to this after it was done, and actually read the whole thing) have enjoyed the ride. Now that fanfiction.net has stopped recording hits, I have no way other than review comments and email to know how many people are reading my work. If you liked it, or even if you didn't but made it this far, drop me a line. I won't promise to reply (I'm terrible at that), but I read and appreciate all comments.

**THE (REAL) END.**

   [1]: mailto:mystik_slacker@hotmail.com



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